Tales of the Warriors - Origins Saga
by Spiralopolis
Summary: The basic concept was to take everything about Dragonball I found interesting - namely the fantastical martial arts - and to set it in a slightly more realistic/mature universe. This is entirely OC and tells the origin story of Maron and Soaka, two nigh-graduated high school students and brothers by adoption and how they react when the world of marital arts is introduced to them
1. Maron and Soaka

Chapter 1: Maron and Soaka

The first thing Maron felt was the sharp slap on his forehead.

"Wake up, man… We're going to be late for school," came the voice of his friend. Darkness slowly lifted away and revealed Soaka to be his waker. "You know Mora won't have that."

Brushing his dark hair from his face, Maron lifted himself to a seating position and gave a quick nod. "Yeah, I know." With a drowsy feeling, he rubbed his eyes. "Listen, go tell her to put breakfast on the table. I'll be down in a couple of minutes." Soaka rolled his eyes and left the room.

Sometimes it wasn't easy, but normally it was. Being the adopted brother of Soaka had always put an awkward strain on things, but their friendship prevailed in the end. Mora, though… Well, as a mother, Maron had trouble communicating with her. Having Soaka play messenger was a bad habit. It was something that he had recently attempted to start remedying.

After throwing on a random outfit, he left his room and ran downstairs. "Morning Mora," he said. There was no food on the table.

"Maron, I'm not a servant," she said off-hand. "Breakfast is ready, but you get it yourself."

"Sorry."

That he was adopted was unmistakable. Him and Soaka looked nothing alike. Dark hair vs. blonde hair, taller vs. shorter, eye color was a no-match… Only a sense of style and a humor was common between the two of them.

After a quick breakfast, the two rose from the table and headed for the door. "Be back at the usual time, Mom," Soaka said. "Usual time" meant right when school ended. Maron was way too socially awkward to do anything else but hang out with Soaka, and by proxy, he barely had much of a circle of friends to speak of. As a matter of fact, beyond Soaka's girl friend and whoever happened to sit with them at lunch, it was fair to see the two had more tormentors than friends.

"You know, I've been thinking," Maron started.

"Always a dangerous thing when you do that."

"Yeah, yeah." Maron stopped for a moment. They still had another mile to get to school, so whatever he had to say must've been important. "Seriously, though. I'm thinking about moving out."

Soaka opened his mouth, prepared with a response to this. This was not unexpected. There were two speeches Soaka spoke fluently, and one of them was body language. Maron seemed to speak it a lot, and Soaka was a great receptor. Everything he did gave off a signal of, _"GET AWAY! MUST GET AWAY!" _Soaka would have none of that. So, his voice started to give the prepared words…

Instead of getting a chance to speak his mind, a car pulled up and stopped next to them. A brand new vehicle… A green one. Ah, so it was Johnny… Sam… just what the two needed.

"Well, Maron and Soaka!" Came his voice. "I'm still trying to find you two a couple of nicknames that aren't so… Fucked up."

Maron rubbed his hand against his face vigorously. "Johnny…" he started. With a deep exhale, "Please, not right now." Johnny, maybe not listening and probably not caring either way, stepped out of the car. "It's been the same thing since grade school, man. Just this one time, leave us alone."

That was a bit out of character for Maron. Normally he just listened to whatever it was Johnny wanted to say and shook it off afterward. If he was assertive, who knew how the other two would react?

"Hey, buddy… You need to relax."

"I'm not your buddy, guy."

Johnny and Sam laughed a bit at that. The two of them never got a rise out of the two… which really, why would they keep coming back? Finally, ten years of pointless bullying were paying off. Sure, Maron was socially awkward, but it's not like he was an obvious target. He didn't look odd, act odd, or have much physical weekend. That's just the way it was, though. The entire baseball team seemed to like taunting them, and occasionally shoving them against walls and that sort of thing.

"Maron, you're adorable when you get angry." Sam decided to join in.

"I'm serious man, fuck off."

"Y'know, Sam," Johnny said. The sidekick raised his eyebrow. "He's like a puppy when he's mad. Sure, it might be a bit scary, but really, it's just plain-old adorable."

Sam chuckled a bit and then shrugged. "Well, can you blame the guy?" Soaka knew exactly where this was going to end up, and it was not going to be pleasant. He shifted his weight towards Maron, not knowing when it would happen. "Never really had a dad that could man him up!"

It was a bit too quick for Soaka to take the necessary action. Maron lunged at Johnny and Sam like he'd never seen. First his whole body moved, and then his fist came right after it. Then his body started falling away when he realized it went through air. He never even had a chance to hit Johnny.

On the other hand, Johnny had a chance to hit him. He took it, with a fist straight to Maron's gut. As soon as he relented, Maron double over in pain, but Johnny decided it wasn't enough, and swung upwards.

He felt it cave in a bit. The cartilage gave way and a burning heat spread throughout his entire face. It sent him flying backwards, and he thought he'd nail the ground with his head. Lucky for him, gravity met its match in Soaka, who caught him under the arms. Maron didn't need to look down to know what that warm feeling was going down his face. He'd bled plenty of times before.

"Get out of here, damn it!" Soaka said.

Johnny smiled and turned. "Get your puppy back on a leash there, Soaka… Could get you into trouble next time he yips." With that, they leapt into the car and took off.

"You look like hell," were the first words Maron heard from Surrell. There were a few moments he'd rank as his worst or most embarrassing: realizing his dad was long gone, finding out Mora wasn't even his mom, accidentally breaking her wrist when she tickled him once… This was going on the list of embarrassing ones.

"You think this is bad?" She nodded. "You should see the other guy's knuckles."

Surrell smiled and looked at Soaka. "Nice to see he hasn't lost his humor." Soaka looked skeptically, then shrugged and agreed. "Anyways, don't you have gym with him after this?"

"Yeah," Soaka said. "Him and Sam… go figure." Then he stopped for a moment and took a gander at Maron. That body language was flaring up again. "Gym with the two school bullies," he continued, "Doesn't get much more soap-opera than that, I guess."

"Not unless I actually hit the motherfucker."

"Maron… you've had enough fighting for one day, don't you think?" Just like Soaka to say something like that. The bell rang. "Well," he put down what was left of his sandwich and looked to his friend, "Time to face the music." He gave Surrell a quick peck on the lips, "See you later, huh?"

"Yeah." They stood up and began leaving. As if to remind him that he couldn't escape his embarrassment, Surrell called after him, "Take it easy on the knuckles this time."

It was really starting to get to him. Walking through the school with caked blood to start the day was not on his "favorite things" list to start with. Then the word started spreading like wildfire that Johnny decked him twice. At least his stomach didn't ache at all anymore. What's more, he was surprised to find that his nose wasn't as broken as he originally though. After the bleeding stopped, it didn't bother him the least. Still, that didn't stop the wave of taunts from everyone. Even the ones who normally left him be had to get a word in… It as really starting to get to him. Ten years will do that to a guy.

"Hey," Soaka said. Maron looked at him. Apparently, he had zoned all of the way into the locker room. "You okay, man? You look you're kind of… losing it."

Maron opened his mouth to speak, much had Soaka had earlier in the day. As if to repeat the events, Johnny cut him off before he could say anything. "Well, if it isn't Fido!" he said. He almost bashed his head into the locker at the sound of the voice. "Fido, what is it boy? You look upset? Somebody fall down the well?" Sam followed close behind him. "Sammy, little Fido-

"Maron." He stopped Johnny dead in his tracks.

"What's that boy?"

Maron turned to face his tormentor once again. "Maron, you jackass. My name is Maron." Soaka actually put his head into the locker, though not quite as violently as his friend had considered.

"You've certain gotten a bit bolder, Maron," Johnny told him. "Dumber, but bolder… Fair trade, I guess."

"You'd be wrong on that account." The voice wasn't Maron's. It caught him off-guard, actually. Soaka decided to chime in for a change. "Bolder for wiser is not a fair trade."

"Looks like your yipping to, huh Sparky?" Johnny chimed in.

"Soaka." Maron clinched his fist so much that his nails dug into his palms. "His name…" It all happened so suddenly that he'd hardly remember it in the future. First thing he recalled doing was swinging at Johnny again, but it wasn't like the first time he did it. This time he just… well, _he lost it_. Everything around him faded except Johnny and Sam. His arm became light, his fist nonexistent, any resistance disappeared.

It was all easy for him. He managed to hit Johnny right across the chin, though it didn't down his adversary. As a matter of fact, Johnny swung right back afterwards and knocked him into a locker. Sam stepped forward to assist his friend in the job, but Soaka sprang in, and just like Maron, he was all-focus. Not knowing how to fight, all he could think to do was duck down and ram Sam into the lockers behind him. The entire metal structure almost toppled from the force, and with enough time to recover, Maron managed to grapple Johnny to the ground. Through a series of struggles, he faintly felt the blows delivered to his body and face, but he was fully conscious of the ones he returned. The two were on even ground. Somehow, some way, between the gap of class and the morning, Maron equaled Johnny. Soaka bested Sam, as his opponent fell to the ground and he pummeled away. Whatever it was, they didn't know. All that mattered was that they could stand up for a change.

Stand up was exactly what Maron did when a hand grabbed his collar and yanked him off of Johnny. He didn't need to look behind him to know what voice said, "That's enough you two!" Coach Carpenter, selectively yelling at Maron and Soaka. What a surprise that was, considering that they just went toe-to-toe with some of the star baseball players.

"Our names are Maron and Soaka, you got that?" Maron shouted. He kept on yelling similar things, with an increasing amount of swearing, as Carpenter dragged him away. "Soaka and Maron, goddamn it!"

Carpenter kept tugging, and Maron could fight it. He still was in the zone, but he couldn't fight against whatever strength it was the coach possessed. All he knew was that as Carpenter flung him into his office, there was one thing on his mind. When Soaka followed him, without being dragged, the same thing ran through his mind. Just two words summed up the entire situation for him. _"We're fucked."_

As Maron settled down, he felt a great weight against his entire body. His face ached, his stomach turned, all of his limbs burned… He was in pain, he was exhausted. Soaka seemed a bit better off than him, but his heavy breathing gave away enough information. It echoed off of the walls in the room as Carpenter entered the room. After ten minute of agonizing wait, the coach was finally ready to reveal whatever it was he and the school had in for them as a punishment.

He sat in his chair and rolled over to his desk. In the action, he'd risen so quickly that it flung out from underneath him. "Let's have a talk, boys," he said.

"Could we just cut to the chase?" Maron asked. He didn't want to sit around and wait to be told how deep the two of them were in it. Soaka nodded as he asked. "I'm in enough pain as it is."

Carpenter ran his hand through his short-cut hair and exhaled strongly. "First, I need to ask you a few things."

"No, really… this is bad enough as it is," Soaka spoke.

Carpenter laughed a little bit when he said that. Was the man actually enjoying this? Punishment must've seen welcoming to a man who just saw two of his star players hurt. "You two never really try in this class, do you?"

Maron and Soaka gave each other a quick glance. The hell was this guy all about? Given the situation, class effort seemed pretty far down the list in terms of concerns. Soaka decided that he'd be the talker for this little exchange, and said with a slow voice, "No… No not really."

"Do you ever do anything physical outside of class." Soaka started, but Carpenter stopped him, "I mean… Physical training. Do you ever lift weights, jog… anything of that nature."

"… No."

"Well, I must be the idiot here," Carpenter said, but he never quite completed that thought. Instead, he rolled over to a file cabinet against the wall, opened it, and began rummaging. After a few brief moments, he gave a quick nod and pulled out a single, thing folder. Neither needed to ask to know what it was: records of their past exercises. "Seriously, do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Well," Soaka said, and he had to choose his words carefully, "You're out high school gym teacher." Hopefully, that didn't sound as arrogant as he felt it was.

"True, true," Carpenter responded. "You see, there's one small problem, though." Another worried exchange of glances. What was this man on to? Small problem? Maybe to him, but for Soaka and Maron, it was gargantuan one. What if they were suspended? What would Surrell say to them? "Now, Johnny and Sam are _both _in the 900-club."

"The what?"

"The 900-club. Basically, between their maxes on bench press, dead lift, and squat, they can lift at least nine hundred pounds. Johnny damn near made 1000." He could see that neither of the two of them knew quite what the hell that meant. "Last time we measured the two of you was three weeks ago," Carpenter told them, "well, you were closer to 500, and that was a surprise to me, even."

"So?" Soaka asked. Where was the man going with this? "Just because they're stronger than us doesn't mean we aren't willing to put up a fight."

"Yeah, but I've see those two fight before. They're plenty capable. What you two did, though… well, you just don't see it happen that often."

"Listen, I'm sorry," Maron finally cut it, "but I have repeat this: could we cut to the chase, here?" Never being the most patient man, he was surprised he'd lasted this long in the conversation.

Coach Carpenter ran his hand through his hair again. "Well, basically what I'm saying is this: you two have potential." Then he cracked his knuckles and adjusted himself. Clearly, he was having trouble finding the right words to say. "I have an offer to make, I guess."

"What's that?"

After a moment of silence, Carpenter finally decided to speak. "Listen, I'll make a trade with you. This business between you two and Johnny and Sam… Well, I can make it go away, if I'd like. Not the personal tension, but the scrum you guys just hand. The school won't make any punishment necessary at all, if…"

"If…?"

"Well," he said, "the two of you, as I said, have potential. The martial arts team here," suddenly the two sat straight up. What was this man on about? "Well, let's face it: the martial arts team here is shit." They almost laughed, but not quite. "Not only are the fighters a bit, um, flimsy, but none of them have the ability to do what you two can." They were about to respond, but it seemed that he still hadn't found the right words. "They do, I mean. Everyone does, it's just that you two channeled it so naturally."

"Channeled what?"

"If you really want to know," he said, "then take the offer. If not, suspension combined with lack of knowledge will the downside."

By the time it was all said and done, the choice was obvious. No need to prolong the conversation, really. Both of them knew what to say. Suspension was not an option, and Maron was far too intrigued to not know what Carpenter was on about. Sure, he never worked out a day in his life, but Maron always felt that he had a natural athleticism about him. Ever since he raced on the playground as a kid, he had a speed about him that was inexplicable. Knowing just what it was that drove this forward was far too tempting to pass up.

Soaka, on the other hand, was a bit more hesitant. In the end, though, remaining in school was more important than having a distraction like taking a sport. He could manage the split-focus. Plus, his mother would have a lot less to say and worry about if they took this route. The decision became clear.

"Right then," Carpenter finished. "Your training starts next week. Come to my office on Thursday and I'll fill you in on the rest."

Little known to any of them at the time of that agreement, what Carpenter discovered had been more than just potential. His decision to have the two trained in martial arts would have an impact greater than anyone could ever foresee, and it all started with a high school rivalry. Things had changed for good.


	2. The Energy

Chapter 2: The Energy

Neither of them looked to hard to notice how things changed around them. First there were the people at school… They did nothing. No bothering them, no taunting, just… nothing. Well, that wasn't completely true: they did notice them. From the lesser popular people, they even got a few passing nods. So far as they were concerned, this was perfectly fine. The less Maron had to talk to them, the better off he was, and Soaka didn't like fake generosity regardless.

Then there was their day-to-day routine. After meeting Carpenter on Thursday, they found out that most of their evenings were now going to be spent training with main named Saizu. Neither of them knew much about him beyond the fact that he used to be a notable martial artist. Age got the best of him, though. It was only a matter of hours before they'd take their first lesson.

Finally, there was Maron himself: something about him was completely different. He didn't mention moving out again, and any awkwardness around Soaka disappeared altogether. The tendency to idle around the house went away completely. That single moment he spent fighting Johnny became his obsession: where in the world that strength come from?

Soaka had to admit, that much was odd. Still, he had his excuses. "Maron, adrenaline rushes do things to people that are hardly accounted for." The conversation started as they walked towards Maizu's gym.

"Sure it does, but I've felt adrenaline rushes before, man." He recalled all of the shock-scares he'd experienced in his life, and the time that a drunk driver clipped him on the side of the road. Neither of those experiences registered the same as what he felt in the locker room. "This wasn't an adrenaline rush."

"Then what happened?"

"Well," Maron started, "I don't know."

"There's no logical explanation otherwise."

"You act like that's a closing argument." Soaka opened to confirm that, but he added, "Then do you mind what Carpenter was talking about when he mentioned potential?"

Only one answer Soaka could possibly have to that. "All I can guess," he said, "is that he meant that we had a natural fighting ability about us."

"… Maybe." As he said that, he saw the gym up ahead. "Guess we'll know soon enough, eh?"

As they approached the building, they realized in a light they hadn't before. Whereas once they passed by the building without minding it, they now realized just how well-constructed it really was. Not on the outside, necessary: it was just another rectangular-prism, two stories in height and nothing to make note of. It was through the glass windows that they looked, though. All of the equipment was top-notch, a running track wrapped around the entire facility (indoors and outdoors), a swimming pool rested on the far end of it (indoors and outdoors), it all really had an aura about it. They wondered what hid upstairs.

"Gentlemen," Coach Carpenter said as they approached the building. He had been waiting for them as they approached the doors. The light of dusk made him only a silhouette against the building. "Saizu is waiting for us upstairs."

It felt like stepping into a who different world. As they crossed the threshold of the building, their insides gave a turn. Fighters and athletes packed the gym downstairs. Men lifted hundreds of pounds with ease. Some who ran the track looked as though they could get a mile in four minutes… they were tremendous.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maron noticed two familiar figures. One was bulky and short: that was Sam. The other, a tall, athletic, imposing figure of a man was Johnny. Apparently, they held a membership. All of the school athletes did.

"Never mind them," Carpenter spoke as if he could read minds.

All of it was so odd… Carpenter's dismissal was only part of it. What really felt strange was when they walked past a rather intimidating, cross-eyed security guard just to go upstairs and see what it held.

What it held didn't amount much more than downstairs. Actually, they were nearly the exact same thing, save for the fact that one stood above the other. Only, instead of a swimming pool, there was a square chunk of emptiness. Its dimensions weren't unfamiliar to either of the two. After all, martial arts tournaments were the most watched sport in all the world. Even the high school teams stood above all other students in terms of status… That was them now. So odd, really.

"Remember, when Saizu appears, you bow."

They might have anyways. At that exact moment, they realized that only one other finger other than them rested upstairs. A single figure approached them through the dim light.

He had an aura about him, really. They couldn't tell what it was, but this man certainly had a swagger to his style. Sure, he was a bit aged, but that didn't matter. His wide build and hard, aged face looked intense enough to stare down even Carpenter in a fair match. Who he was could be guessed without introduction, but he provided them one anyways: "My name is Saizu."

Almost instinctively, the men bowed. This man deserved respect. To their surprise, though, he just chuckled. "Carpenter, you've been talking me up, eh?"

"It's hard not to build your master's reputation."

"Well, that says may be, but I've only ever won the _Lesser _Tournament."

Maron rose first. "Doesn't matter to me what you've won and haven't won. You're still far superior to me and Soaka it terms of skill of strength."

"So says the man who's been in one fight." Maron deliberately ignored Soaka.

To the surprised of both, Saizu opened with a good, belly-full of chuckle. "Oh, I see what you've brought me, Carpenter!" He walked towards the two teenagers with a small grin on his face. "They've got the spirit for fighting."

"I told you they had potential."

"You keep saying that," Maron said, "but neither of us really get what you mean. I mean-"

"I'll explain to you what he means," Saizu said. He brushed his goatee with his hand and looked over to Carpenter, then back to the boys. It'd been a long time since he had to go back to the very beginning of it all. The hardest part was trying to put it in words. "Perhaps it'd best for you to tell me about your fight… Not all of it, mind you, just anything that you feel was, hm… _different_."

Soaka could've predicted where Maron was going to go with that question. Never mind the fact that everything about it was different… Maron fighting Johnny was one thing, but for his entire life, Soaka had professed a sort of pacifism. That little rush he felt, whatever it was, had altered his way of thinking. Suddenly, nobility and loyalty took the place of pacifism. In the face of danger, he revealed his true self. Had it been a sort of pretending he was doing before, then? No. Logic wouldn't have allowed it. The sort of-

"Everything just felt easier," Maron interrupted the train of thought. That look had returned to his face. The same one that he had when he left Carpenter's office after the fight came back in a hurry. He was eager. The passive, mild attitude changed altogether. "Johnny was the only thing I could see, you know? When he swung, it looked slower than before. When he hit, it felt weaker… It was like I had-"

"Become faster and stronger in an instant, yes," Saizu finished. Carpenter walked over and leaned against the wall. "You harnessed what I call the Energy."

"Seriously?" Soaka asked.

"Not impressed, eh?" Saizu asked. He still had that sharp grin on his face. "Then tell me, Soaka, what do you call it?"

"I'm really not sure." Soaka thought for a moment, and shrugged. "Adrenaline."

Carpenter and Saizu gave into a fit of laughter from that, so much so that Maron began to wonder if the either of the two would either stop. When it did start dying down, Saizu's sharp grin widened even further than before. "You materialists… You crack me up. Always looking for the," he almost hissed it out, "_logical _answer."

Soaka almost felt offended, but he knew it was pointless to get frustrated. Instead, he did what he always did: he sought the answer. "Then what is the Energy?"

Saizu flicked his hands as a signal to sit down. They both lowered slowly on to the wooden floor. Their silence only became palpable… The wood creaked and settled as their full weight redistributed. Nothing but air bounced off of the walls around them. In a single, jarring instant, Saizu broke the calm. It'd never be quiet like that again. "It's hard to describe, you see. Different cultures have different words for it. Ki, Chi. Berserkers used it in battle. Everyone has it, you see… but very few are aware of its existence. Of those, even fewer know how to utilize it properly."

"What does it do, though?"

Saizu stroked his goatee even more, his motions more vigorous and frequent than before. "Well, should you learn how to sustain its presence within your body, it essentially improves every aspect of you it can."

Soaka's winced a bit. "Every aspect?" Saizu glanced at him. This one was definitely a thinker, and perhaps that would be better. "Including, say, personality?"

Another chuckle. The noise began to frustrate Soaka a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw no change in Maron. All of this captivated his friend. "No, of course not. Only physical and mental traits change. The Energy is part of the person, after all. With it, one could say you're just more complete."

"Enough of this," Carpenter finally broke in. "Get on with the physical tests."

Saizu nodded. "The tests, yes. Boys, time for some training!" Maron almost leapt in to mid-air from his sitting position. "Relax, Maron… it's just physical tests. I want to see how strong you are _before _you channel your ki."

It took nearly an hour. Outside it grew darker. They were out far later than either expected… At least Mora knew where they were. She wouldn't have to panic in that situation. That much kept him from being too distracted while he did all of the routines he thought he'd never be forced to don again: run a mile, bench press, lift weights through every combination possible. Frankly, the results showed it, too. Neither man could even near 200 lbs., and Maron's mile hardly clocked in under eleven minutes. They weren't quite as in shape as either appeared, it seems.

By the time Saizu stopped them, both felt a smidgen exhausted, though not surprised. Being a martial artist required peak physical conditions, even at the high school level. What was Coach Carpenter thinking when he brought these two in. "Potential is the only word suitable for them," Saizu said, as if he read their doubts. "Everything is untapped, saved for their minds."

Backhanded compliment… Yeah, that's what it had to be. "If you saw their fight against Johnny, you would have seen their raw potential."

"Then there's only one way to do it now." Saizu's smile faded, if only a bit. Whatever it was he was going to say, it was they really came for. "Sit with me now." In synch, they all slowly moved towards their ground, and when they crossed their legs, he bowed his head a little. "Now, I'm going to show you the energy."

Unlike the fight, Maron would later recall this memory vividly. Saizu sat and stilled himself completely. The air around them, first settled, began to feel alive. It was almost as if a slight breeze brushed their faces indoors. Saizu's breathing deepened immensely, and above his legs, he touched his fingers lightly. Neither of them dared to speak during this moment. Only word to describe it would've been immense. Between the palms of his hands, escaping from Saizu's finger tips, a light flickered. It wasn't that of Sun, it was too pure for that, and certainly not the kind of artificial light a bulb gives off. No… this light could be _felt_. Not even Soaka could deny that witnessing this was a special moment in his life.

With a suddenness that caught them off-guard, Saizu stopped. "Now, listen very closely to me." That didn't need to be said twice. "The first step is to make yourself calm. Every muscle of your body must be relaxed."

Each let themselves go. It felt like falling asleep, really. The dim light aided their exercise. "Now, you should feel it… Look towards the center of your bodies."

That's when they noticed it: a warmth. A sort of stirring feeling that wasn't unfamiliar. The closest description either could think of was like someone tickling them from the _inside_. Neither had to check twice: this was part of them. Something hidden that they couldn't harness before. It certainly felt like an adrenaline rush, but that, Soaka realized, wasn't quite what it really was.

"You should be able to focus on it, control it…" he told them. "Center your mind on it, and then bring it out of your body." This part was the real challenge. It felt like it flickered all of around inside their body. Every time either managed to make a lock on it, it jumped away. The Energy didn't want to be found. It's purpose seemed to be one of hiding, not one of utilization. That, Maron thought, was unacceptable.

And that's when it all happened. The Energy, his Ki, it swooped into a single position. The warmth spread throughout his entire body, and then shot through both of his arms. From his fingertips, a faint light flickered. The same exact thing they felt in the locker room became present within his mind. It all became so clear.

Then the light stayed. It could hardly be noticed, though. Saizu's energy was so bright and concentrated that Maron's looked almost as if it weren't there. "I think I've done it," he said. Self-doubt passed through his brain.

"That's it alright," Saizu said. His voice trailed off as he focused on it. "Only ten minutes, hm…"

Carpenter showed a face not unlike Saizu's. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Like I said: potential."

"Wait, wait," Soaka blurted out. Only a few minutes passed since Coach Carpenter said that last word. "I've got it." Just as faint as Maron's light, Soaka's flickered into life. The room was now lit almost entirely by their energy. The result was a cloud of light less than five feet around the four men.

"Now, bring that energy back within, and spread it evenly throughout your whole body. Stay very aware of you're doing the entire time," Saizu told them. Almost at once, both lights faded, and darkness enshrouded the room.

After Carpenter turned the lights back on, they went through the rounds again: post-Energy physical tests. Both seemed skeptic at first. After their mile, though, both changed their tone. The Energy, Ki, Berserk… Whatever it's true name was, it worked in their favor. Maron clocked in at near eight minutes. Both managed to get nearly three hundred pounds lifted above them.

That wasn't all, though: both felt sharper and more able. Soaka's mind worked twice as fast as it did normally. In the peak moments, he could've predicted what he would be done next before it actually happened. He'd never be precognitive, he figured, but this would do for now.

As they finished their exercises, Coach Carpenter and Saizu led them down the stairs. They left them with these final instructions: "Listen boys, your training will not be limited to my gym. It is essential to try to harness this Energy as often as you can."

Carpenter continued for him, "The more you get used to being this way, the more natural it will feel. This won't be the enhanced version of yourself anymore, it'll just be you."

"Yes, very good David… I taught you well, it seems." The coach gave a single nod in response. "Every other day will be spent training with me. Days where you aren't with me will be spent conditioning much as we did tonight."

Maron stopped as they were halfway towards the door. "So then, what are we supposed to do when we train with you?"

"Well, to be a warrior, you must learn martial arts, of course."

"I hate to put a lot of pressure on you two boys," Carpenter chimed in, "but you better learn fast, because the season starts in ten days… Given the nature of our team," he scratched the back of his head. That's when they realized the oddity of the situation: the rest of the team… why weren't they with them? "Well, none of them have any potential. That puts the weight of the tournament on your shoulders."

Neither Maron nor Soaka seemed to mind that all that much. Odd… this sort of behavior was expected from Maron. He always had the act-first nature between the two. Soaka, on the other hand, just wanted to know just how effective this training was. Maron spoke for both of them when he said, "Then I guess we'll just have to train extra hard."

Saizu smiled and looked over to Carpenter. "Potential," was all he said. For a brief moment, he stroked his goatee and paused. "Hm…" he thought. Then he gave them one last message: "In a few days, Carpenter will give you a package after class. It is to be used at all times and with great care."

With that, they left. It would take a while to walk home, and neither wanted to spend that time in the dark in silence.

"So tell, me, Soaka," Maron started, "Do you still think that fight in the gym was the result in an energy rush?"

"Granted the nature of the situation, that's an unfair question."

"Do you always have to use that approach to knowledge?"

"So long as you're like you, I have to be sharp enough for both of us."

"Yeah, yeah…" Their exchanges were almost the exact same. Their personalities remained in tact, and yet, there it was: a sense of competitiveness that wasn't there before. Whatever that package was, they were both eager to find out. So, Maron figured the faster they made the days pass, the better.

Little more than a mile off from Mora's house, he stopped and looked at Soaka. "So then…" His friend raised his eyebrow. What did he have in store for this little excursion? Maron's little surprises are what kept them friends for so long, after all. Maybe this was just the start of another little adventure of his. "Race you back home?"

Soaka smiled and laughed. "You're on!"

With that, they sprinted down the dark suburban street. The gym sat far behind them now, and the house up ahead. They moved at a pace neither should have felt comfortable with. It was all too easy, though.

Would it stay that way, though? They had ten days before they could find out just how easy being a martial artist really was. Both wanted to meet that challenge with open arms, and so they vowed to be as prepared as they could for the future.


	3. Their First Tournament

Chapter 3: Their First Tournament

"So, I thought you guys were going to learn how to defend yourselves, and you know, fight." Soaka looked at his girlfriend, and then to Maron. His fresh shiner sure didn't look all that great. "What have they been doing to you during those lessons?"

Maron took a bite out of sandwich and didn't answer at first. He was hungry as hell. "Saizu says it's best to block before you can punch."

"Makes sense to me," Soaka chimed in. He watched as Maron gulfed down a five-stack of potato chips at once. "How in the hell can you afford to eat like that, man? There's a week's worth of food there."

"Lay off me, I'm starving!" This was shouted before he even had time to swallow. Truly, it made the shiner look less grotesque. "And it does make sense, yeah." Maron swallowed and took a break from his food a moment. For whatever reason, he clicked his teeth twice and did a quick point to Surrel, "You know, we could arrange for you to have one of these yourself," his finger circled around his black eye as he spoke.

"You jerk."

"Hey! I'm just saying it could be a bold fashion statement!"

Soaka had to laugh at that. These two always had their own way of communicating. As a matter of fact, he lucked out when Surrel and him started going out. When he found that Maron got along swell with her, well, he could sigh a good heavy one. Finding people like that for the guy wasn't easy. "Well, as much sense as it makes, I'd prefer to have at least one punch 'n kick session before the tournament comes."

For the past eight days now, they'd been training. While the first session took a lot out of them, the subsequent ones felt like torture. It came to pass that Soaka found his sessions working out downstairs were more welcome than working with Saizu upstairs. Refining their defense skills, he told them, was the way to start. That says may be, Soaka thought, but that didn't give him an excuse to go after them as quick as he could, shouting at random intervals like some mad man. "_Dodge!" _he'd shout at the top of his lungs. Maybe they were improving, yeah… but they were paying the price. "You know, after all of these lessons, I still don't feel like we'd do any better in a fight than before."

"Not 100% true," was the quick reply. Maron's concise responses often came as truth, and he couldn't have phrased that one any better. "We're getting better."

Just before starting on his second sandwich, Maron paused a moment and shifted his weight in an awkward way. Soaka didn't have to ask even once what bothered him so much. He had the same problem. "Maybe we'd get hit less if we didn't have to wear these things."

Surrel's confused face triggered a response from Soaka. "Weighted clothing. Our undershirts are a good thirty pounds we're lugging around all day."

"No wonder you've been sluggish."

Maron's looked grew concerned. "Soaka," he said, his voice matching his look, "even in bed?"

"Oh, goddamn it, Maron." Soaka dug his face into his palm. The other two got a good laugh out of it before he cut them off again. "_So_, anyways… It's a pain in the ass to wear around the school, but when it's off, it feels incredible."

"You've been taking the shirt off?" Maron asked.

"Yeah… Don't tell me you've been wearing that ever since the first lesson." A sheepish shrug and a bit into a sandwich was all the response that came. "Maron," Soaka started. His friend looked up at him as he swallowed and took another bite. With great concern, Soaka finished, "even in bed?"

"Ah, the full circle is complete," Surrel clapped as she spoke. Maron traced his shiner with his finger again. "A double circle, even."

"A rarity indeed."

Coach Carpenter was right. The Energy, for every fantastic thing it could do to a person, didn't change personality.

Saizu finally stopped swinging at them. Maron managed to dodge nearly every attack, and Soaka didn't fair too much worse. "Time for a short breather, boys," he told them. Both of them hope the term 'short' was only a misnomer… If he didn't hear their breathing, the man had to be deaf. "I think we're okay on the defensive techniques for now."

Coach Carpenter looked up. He'd nearly fallen asleep in the redundancy of the lesson. For the third straight session, the three of them had been at it like that. Why he even bothered to show up was a mystery to him. "Saizu, mind if I have a quick chat with them?" Their master bowed and took two steps back. Now they were Coach Carpenter's audience.

First thing he did was unexpected. Tucked underneath his right arm was a folder, and from that folder he pulled two sheets of paper. "This is the roster of North's martial arts team." Each of them took one copy and gave it a quick glance. Eight names were listed down one column, and in another, their dimensions. "This should give you an idea of the size of your opponents this week. You won't know who you fight until the tournament starts." Quite a range of sizes were listed, from 300 pounds and over to one man who happened to be about 127. After that, Carpenter gave them a whole packet of sheets. "Scouting reports. Read them, study them carefully… Make sure you know how to deal with the _entire _team."

Who would have figured this much though went to a simple little fight? Approximations of speed and strength were listed, and even stylistic maneuvers. When could you expect them to go for a kick to the midsection, how frequently would they attack the head? Did they prefer offense or defense? At the bottom of each report came a final rating of how dangerous Carpenter though their opponent was. The most intimidating one came in at a B+. Even stranger were the projections of where they'd end up.

"Carpenter?" Soaka started. Their coach looked at them with curiosity. "Did you take this from or something?"

"NO! How dare you? Now, breather's over, back to work!" There's a question he'd never ask again.

Finally came the offensive part of their lesson, and again, they felt a bit overwhelmed. Apparently, knowing which knuckle to lead with was an important part of the punch, and damn it, there's a difference between in-to-out kicks and out-to-in and _keep that leg straight, damn you_. For being such a humble, older man, Saizu sure did have an intensity about him. They could see why he made a good teacher.

As they looked outside, they realized how late it had gotten. Getting lost in the art was so easy. "We have to be going," Soaka explained. "Mom won't keep the doors unlocked much longer."

Saizu frowned, but nodded. "I understand… I had hoped to get a spar between you two going by the end of the night, but so it goes… Perhaps next time, then." They turned and started to head for the stairs, but Saizu had one last thing to say. "Remember, it still takes time for you to channel your Energy, so be sure to focus it _before _your match's scheduled time. Otherwise, you could be embarrassed."

Maron smiled and did what may be the dumbest thing he's ever done: he gave a thumbs up. Next to him, he heard Soaka bite back a laugh. What was wrong with him?

"Oh no…" it was a desperate voice. If he didn't know Maron any better, he might think the guy was about to cry. Their gym had been replaced with the martial arts platform, and the bleachers progressively got fuller and fuller. Did students always come out to these things in droves? "Why'd it have to be a home-tournament?"

Soaka slapped his back and smiled widely. "Think of it this way, Maron," he told him, "The team can't get any worse, even with us on it."

One of their teammates, a gangly, awkward thing of a boy, said to Maron, "Hey, I heard we finally got our two roster spots filled. You're Maron, aren't you?" He nodded back without looking at him. "I heard about your fight with Johnny, man." His voice sounded so high-pitched he wondered whether the kid sucked in too much helium as a baby.

"The first one, or the second one?"

Wide eyes gave the answer away before he could even speak, but the kid went on anyways. "There was a second fight?"

Maron swore bitterly under his breath, and continued to do so before Soaka rushed him out of the scene. Where he dragged him to was the empty locker room, and that's where he gave the best, miniature speech he could imagine. "You do realize Johnny's behind you now, right? I mean, since when does it matter to you what other people think, anyways?" Maron went from a distraught expression to a blank one. "Now, let's face a fact here: we're better off now than we were two weeks ago, but we'll probably lose regardless. If we crash and burn in front of the school, do you really care?"

His head turned to the right and he threw out an expression of deep though. Then he started swaying it back and forth as if he kept debating himself silently. "Could be a spot of fun."

A hard slap in the shoulder from Soaka, and Maron said, "Yeah! It'll be like fighting Saizu without the criticism!" That certainly sounded inviting.

Together, they walked back out of the gym. The order of fights was announced, and Soaka's match came third. Maron would follow later on in the sixth, and now there was plenty of time to calm his nerves and settles. In the lake of faces gazing down on them, he could spot Mora. She gave a quick smile and a wave, to which he only nodded. Not far from her, Surrel also started to wave. Soaka responded in kind.

With a whisper, Maron told him, "I'm pretty sure she was waving at me, dude." His friend gave him a tap on the shoulder. Funny how quickly Maron got back to being his old self.

As the first contestants entered the ring, its sheer size became a realization. How they got it in the building was a mystery in and of itself: the gym looked tiny with it in there. It was damn near a square football field. Its surface was worn, ivory-like stone that had been cut into squares. The gangly kid and his opponent stood facing each other near the one-third mark in either direction, and then they bowed. It looked tiny.

He hardly noticed what happened, as it was extremely quick: the gangly kid hit the ground, and hard. One of Carpenter's penned "B-" opponents downed their own so quickly that the match hardly registered with the crowd. This was going to be a long night of nothing happening.

"Hey, Soaka?" His friend leaned in to hear better, "What do you think they scouted us, as?"

"After that match, I have to wonder if they even had to scout at all." A private chuckle alienated them from a team that they didn't even know in the first place.

"Now you see what I mean." The two whipped around to see Coach Carpenter standing behind them with a dreadful look about him. He became so different when the day started, it seem… It was almost as if he had been dreading this day for a long time. Depression enveloped him. "No potential."

"I guess so, yeah."

Then he shook his head and shrugged. From the crowd, a few heckles came his way. "Two years, and we haven't won a single match… They hate me." What a cry baby! "Enough of that, though… Soaka, your match is coming up in a minute. Focus on your Energy. Think of your strategy. How will you fight Torres?"

"Well, Torres has a nice, lanky structure about him… Seems like the only way I can get to him is by moving inside his attack range. Couple of false steps here and there to mix him up a bit should do the trick, I hope. Just have to watch for that sidekick to the ribs."

"Maron, have you scouted Carssig at all?"

"Sure have, Coach. According to the sheet, he's more of a fighter than a martial artist. Likes to get up and personal and brawl… He's a street fighter, basically."

"How are you going to handle him, then?" Maron's response was to slap his leg twice. "My God… You actually read that packet," Carpenter said. The gangly kid recoiled a bit in the background. "Interesting strategies, gentlemen. Just remember: keep calm, focus, but beware of all that's around you." With that, he walked away.

Another quick second match saw a stocky opponent down one of their teammates. Truth be told, they were embarrassed before they could even step into the ring. Was this their team? "Next match will feature Soaka of West High against Torres of North High. Make your way to the ring, please."

Maron turned to wish his friend luck, but saw that it would fall on deaf ears. A change had come about Soaka with a suddenness that he couldn't predict. His face was hard, his focus intense. Nothing but the ring mattered, and what waited for him within was a tall drink of water with a thick bushy beard by the name of Torres. His school affiliation didn't matter, nor did the crowd around him. This no longer felt like a matter of necessity… no, it wasn't that at all. This was a matter of Soaka's _pride_.

As they stepped into the ring, Soaka and Torres faced each other. They gave each other a slight nod. There could be some solace taken in the fact that Torres seemed to have a degree of respect for Soaka. He had to make sure he could retain it.

A silence hovered in the air. All stared in anticipation and a dead calm swept any nerves away. Soaka could feel it all fade. He knew that feeling… By now, he'd come to welcome it like an old friend. The Energy found its way through his body, and with that in mind, he moved at Torres with a swiftness that caught even himself off-guard.

There was an exchange of movements: Torres lunged with his legs, Soaka turned sideways and dodged. He'd already reached the inside. Seeing the first opening, he managed to elbow the left kidney with a good deal of strength. Staggered, his opponent looked beyond surprised. Someone from West may actually have been worth a damn after all. Composure regained, he faced Soaka once more, and in turn, Soaka moved as if to sprint right at him. It worked: Torres moved his leg in the air and became exposed.

There it was! An opening so sweet that it had to be admired passed into being. Alas, Soaka didn't know how to go after it! Saizu had taught them a few basic kicks and the proper way to punch, but never, not once, did he entertain the idea of teaching them how to sweep the opponent out! It passed out of being.

Torres changed his tune. He switched his posture and put his best leg out front. What followed was a bizarre series of motions that showed a man thinking his leg to be a sword of some sort. He twitched it in ways that Soaka didn't think were possible, and it was fast. _Damn _fast. The attacks came at him in a way that he was totally unprepared, and before he knew it, Torres had him back-pedaling. No matter how hard he tried to slip away, though, there his opponent was. Block after block proved successful, but Torres wouldn't relent. Every moment, he became quicker and quicker, closing in on Soaka in such a way that he couldn't escape, and that's when it happened: Torres dropped his leg. A quick response was necessary: Soaka regained his footing and began to move in, but it was all for naught: a quick palm landed against his solar plexus… Sure, it didn't hurt. It felt quite light, actually, but that didn't matter. All it had to do was knock Soaka backwards.

It accomplished just that. A realization shot through his brain that there was nowhere behind him to balance out, and just like that, gravity took control and yanked his body out of the ring. It was over.

Soaka pushed himself off of the floor, and even from across the ring, Maron could see his disappointment. Still, they each had to acknowledge something: he had a shot to win it. The only thing that held Soaka back was a lack of experience and training. His friend nodded at Torres again, who in turn, reached out and shook Soaka's hand. "Good match," he mumbled. Truth was, he wasn't quite lying.

While the next two fights were going on, Coach Carpenter consulted Soaka. "So, you learned an important lesson today." Soaka raised an eyebrow with curiosity. "Being aware of everything includes not just you and your opponent, Soaka. Your surrounding environment is part of it."

"Do you think I could have beaten him given another week of training?" Soaka asked. It seemed unlike him to Maron. 'What ifs' weren't really his style.

"When you don't have to ask that," Coach Carpenter said, "you'll be a true martial artist."

The announcer cut in not long after that. Maron's turn had come, and he'd been ready the entire night. Unlike his friend, he'd began to channel his Ki at a decent rate, and tried his best to maintain as long as could. Wasn't long after their first training session that he could hold it for two hours without a problem. His endurance improved rapidly over the last ten days.

He stepped into the ring… The environment around him changed, and then it faded out. Only thing he could see was the white stone and the thick, stout body of Carssig in front of him. A quick exchange of nods, the announcer said go, and the fight was on.

Not to his surprise, Carssig move first. Charging forward with all his strength, Maron opted to take the statue route. Almost time now… his opponent was close. Then _bang_, Maron sprang backwards and threw his foot up in the air just as Carssig tried to dive into him. The result knocked his chin upward, and his opponent staggered. Then he staggered some more. Then it happened: he hit the deck. Only for an instant it happened, but it was done. Maron had a chance. Carssig rose again.

Now he took a more methodical approach. Maron kept moving out of his range whenever the man closed in, but he was being far more selective in his technique. Stagger-stepping became a routine, as did the fake assault. Somehow, in some way, Maron had predicted correctly each time. He didn't just see an opponent's movement, he _felt it._ Whenever Carssig neared, a light pressure could be felt. Whatever it was, Maron knew that he had to ignore it. Fight against it. He could topple whatever great force this was. There was one problem, though: he'd already focused on it long enough to stop paying attention to Carssig.

_Bam! _The punch hit him across the face and Maron skidded across the stone floor. His cheek felt aflame. This wasn't anything like when Johnny hit him. This strike was a bag of bricks against a pile of hay. The fighter had a bite for his bark. Not wanting to give up, Maron slowly used his remaining energy to put himself on his feet. Looking at Carssig, who seemed a little winded himself, he knew there was only one option.

He waited… The statue returned from the beginning of the match. Here he came. Patience seemed to have won out. Carssig's methodical approach disappeared just the once, but Maron wasn't prepared to move like last time. He knew that he didn't the Energy to do it. Instead, he let Carssig nail his gut, and just as he did, the area around him faded. Still, he didn't let go, he couldn't. Where was the ring behind him? Must not have been any. He was falling out, but he didn't let go. It was his only chance.

Carssig and Maron hit the floor at the exact same moment. No one could tell who touched down first.

Maron's first ever official fight resulted in a draw.


	4. Maintaining Normalcy

Chapter Four: Maintaining Normality

"So neither of you won your match," was all Saizu said at first. If he kept going at it like that, his goatee would come to a finer point than a needle. "Both of you had key moments where you could have taken advantage and won, but inexperience let it slip away." He stopped brushing his facial hair for a second and looked at Carpenter. "Really, this is why they needed to spar before getting into a tournament."

Carpenter shrugged and looked at the ground. "Bad timing," he said. "Anyways, a draw is the best result I've seen from that team the past two years."

Saizu only grimly smiled. "Well, then," he said, "I can't teach you strategy. That's up to you."

So the training sessions continued, as did their working out. The difference between their styles were more pronounced than at first. As they learned more advanced fighting techniques, each utilized in a different way. Soaka, stemming from his studious nature, took a more tactical approach to his fights. The first time he sparred Maron, he managed to pull out a victory in spite of the fact that his friend had advanced in speed and strength and a higher rate. Maron's aptitude wasn't as sharp as Soaka's, but his fighting style was far more balanced in its approach. He focused on balance instead of Soaka's emphasis on speed.

As the weeks went on, their training showed how incredible the Energy really was. Even with their weighted shirts, each could run three miles in a single stretch without tiring too much. Physically, the differences weren't as great as one might expect. Neither became bulky in appearance. Instead, a general athleticism settled in.

"You know, Maron, you could parlay those looks of yours into getting a date, for a change," Soaka told him at lunch.

Once again, the man had a healthy amount of food on his table. Taking another huge bite from his sandwich, he didn't wait for it to go down before he replied, "Soaka… I know you're looking out for me and all, but I'm really not interested."

Surrell plopped her tray down at the table as she settled in next to Soaka. "You two having lovers' quarrels again?"

"I was just telling Maron here that I think he should search for a lady."

"He was," Maron said. "I was going to tell him that a lady will come when she comes. I'm not going after them."

Surrell looked at the two of them and shook her head. "God, you two are adorable together, you know that?"

"Well, what you don't know is that the reason I don't have a lady is because I'm just biding time to steal the significant other of someone at this table." Maron gave a quick wink to Surrell and mouthed the words, _"Soaka's mine_._"_

Facepalms all around, and then Surrell turned back to her boyfriend. "So, are we on for tonight, then?" Soaka stopped chewing for a second and pupils drifted to the corners of his eyes. Both of the people looking at him knew that look all too well. Following it would be one of two things: a lie, or an excuse. "If you could make a lie as an excuse, it'd really round things off, you know?"

"Listen Surrell, I know we haven't had much time together of late, what-with the whole training thing and all, but-"

"Damn it, Soaka, we planned this out _last week_." She looked over at Maron for some degree of support. Of course, not being in that relationship and thus not caring a bit about anything but martial arts, he decided that his sandwich was of more interest. And why not? It tasted fantastic.

"Tonight's supposed to be training with Saizu, Surrell."

"Then you should have thought of that beforehand, shouldn't you?"

"We can reschedule it."

"That's not the point!" Surrell grabbed her bags and began to rise from the table. Soaka made a quick lunge in her direction, but stopped halfway through. There was no reasoning with the girl when she got upset. Not even Soaka and Maron's humor could break through her when Soaka forgot a date earlier on in their relationship. Maybe, thanks to a lack of alone-time, she saw this recent change as a return to the beginning. Feisty Surrell had made a comeback.

"Lovers quarrels," Maron humored when he finally gulped down his last bite. Soaka looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "God, you two are adorable together, you know that?" The man had a talent.

Soaka back-pedaled as his opponent came at him. He avoided the attack easily enough. This man fought poorly: his eyes looked where he'd swing, his muscles contorted before the lunges were made… Saizu trained the two boys how to look for these sorts of tells properly. The concept eluded Soaka to a degree, but Maron caught on to it without even trying. Certainly, his heart was more in it than Soaka's.

Still, all of that didn't change the fact that Soaka was going to win yet another match. In what grew to be a trend, he and Maron landed blow after blow against their opponents. Single-handedly, they kept their high school team out of the cellar, and as Coach Carpenter blurted out to them once, "You guys probably saved my job."

Training remained as intense as it had ever been for the two, and in more ways than one, it grew even more difficult for them to keep up. Saizu drastically picked up the pace in terms of trying to make prepared for more difficult challenges and hurdles. Traditional moves and strings of attacks frequently showed up in their program.

The most taxing of all of all the challenges, though, had to be the sparring sessions that Soaka and Maron went through. It kept their competitive spirit healthy and their bodies in slight pain. More and more, it appeared that Maron gained the upper-hand in their fights, though Soaka certainly got his fair share of victories in. Bruises became a normal part of their complexion, as did a particularly noticeable amount of muscle that hadn't been there before. What's more, they swapped out their weighted clothing for 50-pounders that dragged them down even harder.

All of this and the tournaments ate up almost all of their free time, which didn't bother Maron all that much. Soaka, on the other hand, quietly grew frustrated with his inability to focus on Surrell, and she paid him in-kind, making sure that he knew how frustrated she was.

After a quick exchange of moves, Soaka found his opening: his opponent had, once again, stuck his leg up in a defensive maneuver. Without so much as a thought, Soaka spun his back leg around and knocked the Southerner off of his base. Just before he got back up to his feet, Soaka grabbed managed to land a hard blow right to his ribs, and that led to a concession of the match… Did he just crack something?

Quiet applause filled the gym as he walked over the away team's side of squared-circle. "Didn't give him any room to breathe that time, eh?" Maron asked with a smile.

"Think I might have cracked one of his ribs," Soaka said. His voice quivered a bit when he said it. "Lord only knows how much power we can deliver now."

Coach Carpenter overheard this and felt the need to chime in. "Harnessing the Energy means that you're going to be capable of delivery more-than-human damage if you aren't too careful. You are getting to a point where you might start hurting some of the weaker opponents. Carlson's a lightweight, so that kick probably messed him up something serious."

"Cool, another thing to worry about."

"Well, you might have something else to concern yourself with," Carpenter said.

"Ah… I can't wait to hear this one.

"They're making selections for the Western regional coming up soon. The best fighters from each district are going to meet up in Centralville for a 64-fighter tournament."

Maron sprang to life upon hearing that. "The top 64 high school fighters? Seems like a lot of qualifiers."

Coach Carpenter shrugged and replied, "Think of it this way: in our district there are 32 fighters. There are 8 districts in each region. That's 256 fighters, and the top 25% go to Regionals. So it's not like this isn't a big deal or anything."

The mere fact that he told them that made both of them very aware of the fact that they could be selected for the High School Regionals, and that could only mean one thing: even more training with Saizu.

As Maron stepped on to the platform to begin his match with a C+ fighter, Soaka rubbed his eyes a bit. Finally, it seemed, the weight of the whole situation started to grind down on him, and he didn't have the damn shirt Saizu gave him on.

"It's quite remarkable," their instructor said as he stroked his goatee. "Making the High School Regional after only three months of training. When David said you two possessed potential, it might have been a bit modest." This was the closest he'd ever come to giving either one of his student's a compliment, and they both took it in stride. "That being said, you've still been losing matches that you could be capable of winning if you dedicated yourself to the craft for a longer period of time. You'll be seeded quite lowly at the Tournament, make no doubt about that, but you have a month to keep at it until then, which may give you the edge you need."

Maron nodded as he drank it all in. Every word registered in through that dark mat of sweaty nonsense he called hair. To his left, Soaka merely acknowledged the words.

"That being said," Coach Carpenter cut in, "I think you two need to rest up for a week."

For the first time since Surrel had stormed away from the table, Soaka smiled a bit. Those were unexpected words.

Saizu stopped stroking his goatee and looked to Carpenter. "A good idea. Not a full rest, though. No more sparring or striking for the week. We still need to go over technique, and your conditioning shouldn't be completely forgotten either."

That didn't matter. It made things in his schedule possible to achieve. All that work he'd done to get Surrel to stop the ignoring him might actually start to pay off soon enough.

"Drowning yourself in your craft is never a good idea. Fighters have all made the mistake of overtraining before, and to push you two so hard so quickly is a bad idea," Saizu stated. "Keeping a healthy balance between training and relaxing is a key to maintaining normalcy. A happy fighter is a strong fighter, as bizarre as that may seem. The less worries one has, the easier it is to focus later on. Remember that."

Carpenter concluded the lesson with his own little quip. "Sparring will recommence in ten days. You'll receive the scouting reports on _all_ 62 opponents when the time comes, and in addition, there'll be a bit of surprise when training does start again, so be prepared for a challenge when you come back."

After the speech, the two changed back into their normal clothes, though Maron kept his weighted shirt on as he always did, and made their way downstairs. Most of the regular trainers had left by the time their sessions were over, but every night a straggler or two stayed behind in hopes to gain an edge in whatever it was they competed.

They couldn't help but notice a few familiar faces leftover this time. Johnny and Sam mixed themselves in with the rest of the baseball team, but they stood out quite sharply among the others. Johnny's glare fixed on Maron and never left as the two walked by. Neither bothered to say or do anything about the fact that their old rival seemed to be growing more infuriated with the situation every passing day. What Soaka had said to Maron before his first fight was completely true: Johnny was behind them now. Both had moved up and on from whatever fueled their rivalry, and letting it go became the healthiest decision they'd ever made in their lives.

"Still," Maron said as they left the building and broke their silent conversation, "it'd be interesting to see what fighting them is like now."

Soaka gave a shadow of a grin, which was more than he would have done mere months before. Funny how quickly a little physicality can bring out the edge in a person. "Entertaining, sure, but let's let him start anything, right?"

"It'll be pretty cute if he ever does."

In their week off, each went about their own business. Of course, they interacted plenty and trained minimally, but this might have been their first real sense of independence from each other since Saizu taught them about the Energy.

Soaka managed to keep a date with Surrell for a change, and the two were back to their old selves. Maron, meanwhile, did something rather unexpected: he used his free time to get to know Mora a bit better. Sure, they only had a week to get beyond any awkwardness, but at least progress could be made. After 18 years, it looked as though Maron finally learned how to serve his own breakfast, and considering how much he'd been eating of late, that may have been out of necessity. Still, the normalcy returned between the two, and as their ten days went on, it finally dawned on them how much they'd needed the rest.

Bruises and cuts faded, emotional strain disappeared, and a refreshing sense of motivation returned to Soaka in particular. Having time with Surrell really brought the life back to him, and maybe he'd stop screwing up in so many fights. That loss to a C- fighter had been particularly embarrassing, as Maron found it in his heart to only taunt him twice for the event afterwards.

Hell, they even got to know the team a bit better in their time off, as they trained at the gym instead of Saizu's for a change. The others didn't seem too fond of them, but once they interacted a little, basic human courtesy and even a shadow of friendliness showed up in their conversations.

For the first time in as long as either teenager could remember, they could say this with full confidence: life was good, and by the looks of things, it was only going to get better in the future. Whatever surprise Carpenter had in store for them could only help them down the road, no matter how challenging he promised it would be.

It was time to look forward.


	5. Before the Tournament

Chapter 5: Before the Tournament

"Hi Maron!" came a girl's voice. He turned his head to see a rather scrumdiddlyumptious redhead waving his way. All he could muster was to mumble back. "Well, good luck tomorrow! I hear there's going to be some stiff competition at the Tournament!"

As she walked away, Soaka stood next to his friend for a minute in silence, and then proceeded to shake his head. "You know, it wouldn't be a crime to stiff her."

"How is Surrell, by the way?"

"Seriously, Maron, you can actually talk to these people."

Maron nodded and started strolling down the hallway, and his friend followed suit. "I just have a problem with people suddenly wanting to be my friend now that I'm all, y'know… athletic and shit." Soaka rolled his eyes as Maron went down the old path again. He'd recited this speech no less than three times ever since they qualified for High School Regional Tournament. "One week, we're unacknowledged, the next we're suddenly the center of attention."

"You know, usually I'm the mature one between us," Soaka said, "but one of these days you've gotta get laid, dude. You're getting grouchy."

Another voice cut them off as they rounded the corner, "You're selection was a desperation attempt! Field's thin this year or something."

"Good talking to you, Johnny!" Maron called after him, then kept on without another word. At this point, any conversation with that guy had become the same story over and over again, and entertaining him and his little mob grew into an old, unfunny joke.

Soaka stopped at the intersection and made to head down the hall, but he took care to remind his friend that they had work to do that evening. "Remember, we _have _to go to Saizu's tonight to go over the scouting report again." One odd thing about Maron was his inability to focus on what his opponent's plans were, and it created a hole in his fighting style. Soaka spotted this early on, but had failed to get that spark going in Maron. This made sense, in a way. After all, Soaka had always been the more stoic, studious-natured one of the pair while Maron basically picked up whatever was new and rolled with it on instinct alone. He had the natural talent for fighting, but Soaka still managed to receive a higher seed at the Regional Tournament thanks to his ability to predict his opponents' next move. This all but guaranteed a much easier opponent in the first round, unless the draw went against the odds.

"Right-o! Be sure to give Surrell my regards!"

The two separated at that point. Maron made his way toward his next class and let his mind drift a little. Soaka did have a point, really. Just because they wanted to talk to him now didn't mean that they necessarily disliked him before. After all, Maron sort of made it a point to distance himself from others at a young age… Finding out one's adopted can have that effect on people. Whoever it his father was, whatever he did, Maron had to wonder how he'd react to his son being a martial artist in a regional tournament. Maybe he'd be proud and give him a hug… or maybe he'd-

Some grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. With but a second to spare, he moved backwards as a fist missed his face by inches. Backpedalling, Maron took a moment to have a look at who was attacking him… and of course, Johnny was staring him down. "Seriously?"

Johnny just shook his head and moved forward again, swinging. Maron knew he couldn't swing back. That's what Johnny wanted. A school fight would get him suspended and Maron would be barred from the Regional Tournament because it. His opponent's aggression, though, was pushing back and causing him to lose ground with each swing. The air _whooshed_ as he nearly grazed Maron's ear, and then he felt the wall behind him. Everyone's eyes were on him and Johnny now. No intervention or help from his friendliest of classmates… without Soaka or Surrell, there seemed to be no one willing to lend him a helping hand.

Then it happened: Johnny brought his fist up and acted as if to jab. Maron didn't move. He knew there was only way out of this. The fist closed in on his face. He felt no panic. Closer still… and still, no panic. Only at the very latest moment, when Johnny fully committed himself to the blow, did Maron lean off to the side. It nearly connected with him, and Maron could have sworn he felt it graze his nose, but no one would be able to tell afterward. They'd all be talking about the sickening crunch that emitted from Johnny's fist when he hit the wall.

The collective gasp didn't even register with Maron. What _did _register was the barking voice of some random teacher down the hall. "Hey hey hey! What is going on here?!" People broke apart as Mr. Simmons made his way through the crowd. Johnny held on to his fist and grunted in pain, but never gave Maron the pleasure of whimpering or even moaning. "Alright, gentlemen, I want to know exactly what happened and I want to know it now."

In the dimly-lit dojo/gym, the four men grouped in a small silence. The scouting reports had been sufficiently memorized by both fighters enough to satisfy Carpenter. Saizu, of course, found the reports somewhat scarce for his standards, but understood that this was a high-school level tournament, and all of the nuances that went into higher-level fights, even amateur tourneys, were a bit above his two young warriors.

"Right, we're going to split you two up. Maron, you're with me first. Soaka, you work with Saizu. We switch in 30 minutes, and after 30 more, well… I'll try to give you all of the encouragement and information you're going to need for tomorrow."

Carpenter's 30-minutes consisted of him stating a name and then matching his style of sparring to the tournament-participant. "Smith" brought a full, head-on assault with heavy-hitting blows to the mid region. If he stated "Jones," then it might bring a string of techniques meant to wear down Maron's legs. Each one proved far trickier to master than the typical opponents the two faced, though one fighter, Quast, had met Maron in the ring before. He'd lost pretty handily, too.

Meanwhile, Saizu's 30 minutes would be similar. He'd state a name, but instead of sparring, he'd ask for a strategy to combat said name, and present all possible scenarios to go along with it. Anything he found dissatisfactory, he amended and explained. The combination helped Maron and Soaka better understand what a tournament with skilled fighters really entailed. It felt like a lot to take in, to be honest.

After the hour was over, the four regrouped in the center and Carpenter and Saizu had the younger ones take a seat. At first, they only stared in silence.

Naturally, Carpenter broke the silence. "Tomorrow will be a challenge, make no doubt about it. The scope of the arena will feel overwhelming at first, but since it is the first round, it won't be too crowded. Get used to it quick, because each round will draw more and more spectators. Getting distracted is easy.

"Now, keep this in mind: neither Saizu nor I can be there to help you. I'll, of course, be in the stands, and I hope Saizu makes it to the arena as well." He paused to see if his old master had something to add, but he gave no sign either way. By now, Saizu was showing them how to hide any hints of what his thoughts were… or at least that's how Soaka took it. "You'll be drawing for your opponent – higher seeds draw their opponents, and the numbers will be for lower-regarded fighters. You won't be drawing."

That told a bigger story to both of them than anything else at that point. They'd put up decent matches in their limited experience, but as it turns out, their school wasn't the only weak one in their district. The level of talent just didn't seem to be there.

Saizu noticed the slight looks of concern that grew on their young faces. "The difference between you and many who you will see this tournament is that they're at the top of their game, or near it. Both of you have a glass ceiling that can be shattered when you really put forward the effort. It is my hope that this won't be your last fight."

Privately, he glanced in Soaka's direction for only a brief moment. If either one of them stopped fighting after high school, he'd be the one to do it. Maron looked like he was preparing for a date with destiny. This wasn't his last tournament by a long shot. That much felt certain.

"When I first saw you, what word did I use to describe you?"

Together, the two spoke, "Potential." The word seemed to bounce off of the walls in a silent echo. The air stilled, and a dead calm fell about the gym.

"Even today, with all of your progress, that is still the very word I would choose. Yes, you've cut your mile time down to nearly five minutes, and yes, you've managed build up to four hundred pounds maxing on the bench press, but strength and speed are only two aspects of a near-infinite scope when it comes to martial arts. Anyone can build above-human strength if they really put their minds to it, but only a few will ever master even a half-dozen of those aspects. Of you, a vision has grown for me where you will reach mastery of that and more. Remember that, and you will leave the Regional Tournament knowing that, even if you lose, your future glares with brightness. Now, one more time, summon the Energy."

The experience felt similar to the first. The calming of the air, the drowning out of all ambient noise… Maron and Soaka welcomed it like an old friend. This time, though, the process accelerated. Now familiar with harnessing and maintaining the Energy, they could summon it in nearly a minute. The size and brightness of it enhanced immensely from when their first session. If ever they needed reassurance of how far they'd come, this was the only exercise they'd need to perform.

Craig dug under his fingernails with equal parts rage and precision. That combination made any man dangerous, but with a man like himself… well, not much need be said about that. Suffice to say that outside of the Cobras, he was as strong as there was in the sector.

He heard a knock on the door, and flicked the last bit of dirt on the floor. After rising, he cracked his knuckles, then his neck, and finally his shoulders. He sniffled and rubbed his nose, and only after that action did he bother to answer to knock. "Who's the one doing all of the rapping at my chamber door?"

"Johnny."

Young Jock Johnny is what Craig called him. As dependable as there was when it came to deliveries and payments, but so far as Craig could remember, neither was in order just then. "Come."

Young Jock Johnny turned the door knob and walked inside.

First, Mora driving them to the tournament came as a surprise. She'd supported the idea strictly from a physicality standpoint, but as far as the actual tournaments themselves went, she wanted nothing to do with them. Then she actually seemed _excited _about the entire situation… well, even Maron felt a bit of an urge to make sure he didn't disappoint his adoptive mother.

When Surrell happened to be waiting for Soaka at the front doors of the auditorium, that really caught them off-guard. Maron, for once in his life finding nothing witty to say, just strolled on by her with only smile and recognizing nod.

Soaka almost stammered when he spoke. "I thought you were still kind of put-off by this… well, stuff."

Surrell shrugged a bit coyly – in that cute way that only a girl can do – and then said to him, "I was, but then you stated paying attention to me again, and I thought it'd only be fair to you. I mean, it isn't like you joined this by choice."

He nodded and looked off to the side for a brief moment. "No. No I didn't."

"But you're glad that you get to do this."

"Yeah. I think I am."

She bowed her head and gave a cute little smile. "Then I guess I'll have to just be glad, too." Surrell had a way about her, that much was for sure. She knew how to make Soaka content with himself and repeated the action constantly.

The four of them all looked over to the arena they'd be fighting in. Sleekly built and with a surrounding garden well-kept, everything felt suddenly so real. Maron looked to Soaka, his friend and brother. He looked to Mora, his guardian and mother. He looked to Surrell, his sister and confidant. He thought of Carpenter, his mentor and catalyst. He thought of Saizu, his source of wisdom and inspiration. So few people in his lift he was so close to… so few people he could depend on. Yet, privately, he knew one thing within him was certain.

He wouldn't have it any other way.


	6. Within the Walls

Chapter 6: Within the Walls

The first thought that crossed through Maron's mind when he walked into the gym was that the size of it was staggering – well, okay, it was no coliseum, but it certainly felt that way when one was the center of attention. The second thought was _my god _was it empty in there. The multiple stacks of bleachers sat only occupied by, in an optimistic estimate, a quarter capacity. Spotting their friends and companions wasn't too tough for them – Surrel and Mora had, of course, found each other and seated themselves close to the front row. Carpenter had managed to position himself up a little ways to make sure he could see all of the action unfolding in front of them.

Perhaps not surprising, but disappointing all the same, was the absence of Saizu. Maron new that the instructor had advanced far beyond the likes of this competition, and that he had much to busy himself with, but still, his presence would have been a good boost. All that he could see, though, were a bunch of strange faces and one pale, pale man tweaking out in the upper corner of the gym.

"Get a load of that guy," He said to Soaka with a small gesture in the top of the stands.

Soaka followed the gestured and locked eyes with the man. "Egads," he pronounced the word, "that guy's got to be on something…"

Maron noticed something odd about Soaka all of a sudden. "Your voice trailed there - what's Soaka Holmes trying to deduce?"

Soaka only stared a bit longer before he found his answer, "I don't know… it's just, that guy seems kind of dangerous. I'm surprised they let him in the building." He paused and looked over to Carpenter. Maron followed suit and he showed them a sign of acknowledgement. "Glad he could make it out for this."

"Too bad Saizu's not here."

"Bah, Saizu's a bit of recluse anyway. What do you expect?"

"I expect him to take interest in his pupils," Maron stated.

Soaka turned towards his friend and gave him a cautious look. "Maron, the guy's aging a bit. He's got a very impressive gym to watch over and we're probably not his only pupils."

Maron gave a single shrug of his shoulders in response. Looking to take change the topic, he shot his eyes around the gym. He immediately recognized a few faces. A pair from South were in the building, one from east… Still, though the vast majority were completely foreign to him. "Our district must've sucked the big one this year."

"Well, we _are_ in the most peripheral district of the mainland," Soaka said. "Besides, it's not the number of fighters here that counts, it's-

"Please, God, don't say motion in the ocean." Soaka rolled his eyes and they started to make their way over to the fighter's pit. The drawing was scheduled to begin shortly and they both wanted to know who their opponents would be.

A single man with a thin mustache appeared to be in charge of the drawing. His poofy hair was pulled back giving him quite a goofy appearance, and the 2-piece, periwinkle-blue suit did not help his call in the slightest. Then, with an enthusiastic bellow, he called out to all fighter present, "Welcome everyone! The time has come for the drawing for the 42nd annual high-school level Martial Arts Tournament! Woohoo!" You could not knock his enthusiasm nor his energy. "Today will feature the first round of action. There will be four rings featuring 16 fighters each for a total field of 64! The top 32 seeds will draw their opponents and be bracketed into their selective ring."

Maron snatched a quick glance at the four rings in the gym. They were all the same size as the ones he'd fought in several times before, and they were identical. Privately, he wondered if that remained the standard size through all levels of competition.

"Okay, first up will of course, be the undefeateds from their respective districts. Gentlemen, please step forward and make your selection." Among them was South District's Jocan. With long hair and lean build, he hardly made an imposing figure. To watch him fight though, proved his worth. Of course, Maron had only seen him fight opponents from his own team, so that didn't say all that much. With his long arms, he reached into the box and pulled a number and on it a name. "You'll be fighting the thirteenth seed in the fourth ring, Craig Wentworth. Good luck to you."

Jocan walked away, seemingly satisfied with his pick. The remaining process felt rather tedious. The only thing Maron could take solace in was the longer it took someone to draw his name, the easier first round he'd have. Competition was great and all, but notching a few wins under his belt would prove to be a real boost in his- "Sixth seed Markus Torres draws fourteenth seed Maron in the fourth ring! Good luck to you both!"

Torres? Maron remembered his fight against Soaka from their very first tournament. The guy's foot work blew his mind at the time and looking back on it, still felt impressive to him. Could he possibly find a hole in his regimen? Either way, the draw worked in his favor. A fighter he'd seen before and with a middling number. Not bad. Of course, Soaka's fortunes were proving to be even greater.

"And that leaves eighth seed Jordan DeWitt to face off against twelfth seed Soaka in the third ring." Whether the decision pleased Soaka or not, Maron couldn't tell. In all likelihood, it didn't matter too much to him. He'd spent far more time preparing himself for the competitors than Maron had. That was how he always managed to outperform his friend regardless of physical prowess. "That concludes the drawing for the Tournament. Ladies and gentlemen, the rings will now be prepared for competition and the ceremonial exhibition fight will open things up in one hour. Until then, don't be afraid to try one of those legendary Southron Hot Dogs!" Wow, did he take his job seriously.

Soaka finally spoke as the fighters began to dissipate, "What are the odds that you'd get Torres?"

"About 1 in 64, if I had to guess," Maron said.

"Oh hardy har har," Soaka said. "Since when did you go highbrow?"

Maron only smiled and looked at Torres intently. That footwork was mighty fancy, Saizu's was fancier. He remembered the rubbery style that he flung his kicks at Maron. Getting around it would prove tough, be if he could get to the inside, it'd be all over. All he had to do was – "Hey," Soaka interrupted his train of thought. "I think your fan's here."

"Oh Jesus fuck, not Johnny?" Perturbed, he let his gaze follow in the direction of Soaka's, and lo and behold he saw the same redhead who'd waved at him in the high school halls not three weeks ago. "Oh, not Johnny!"

"Wow, you just perked up something fierce." Soaka looked at the girl then back to Maron. "I hope not in more ways than one."

"Oh hardy har har. Since when did you go sow lowbrow?" Maron said. The girl started to glance in his direction and he made a quick jerk of his head to make sure they didn't lock eyes. Soaka, ever the observant one, obviously noticed and failed miserably at an attempt to hold back a laugh. "Thanks, bud." Maron started walking towards the locker rooms in the back with his gym bag. Soaka didn't trail too far behind. The time to change and get ready was right then and there. "If there's only one disappointment, it's that we're not in the same ring," Maron said.

"You'd probably win that fight," Soaka said. "You're weakest aspect is your inability to learn about an opponent beforehand, and with me… well, same teacher, etc."

Maron shook his head as they exited the open gym and entered the corridor. The lockers were only a short distance down the hallway on the right. "Just because we have the same teacher doesn't mean we fight the same way."

"That's true, but you still watch me train every day."

"I wish you'd be more competitive about this. I mean, you told Surrell you enjoyed this whole experience. Why not indulge in a little friendly competition?"

Soaka shrugged. "You aren't someone I'm that interested in competing with."

"Since when?"

After they reached a suitable locker area, Soaka stopped and pulled Maron by the shoulder to face him. "Maron, we both know you're going to go further than me when it comes to this sort of stuff. I _do_ compete on a certain level, but I'm just able to acknowledge that you have more talent than I do." He paused and unzipped his gymbag. "You sleep in your damn weighted shirt. You focus on channeling your ki eighty times a week. I can't keep up with that."

Maron nodded and leaned back on the locker while Soaka began unfolding his uniform. So neat and cared for, just his way. He looked at it compared to his crumpled up in his bag and started to wonder… Soaka had always been so meticulously and careful, and here he was again proving to better-care for what he pursued. "No matter how much drive I have, you'll always find a way to best me," he responded.

Soaka started to change and a sly grin came across his face. "Yeah, that's true. I'll always be smarter than you."

"But if it wasn't for me, this all never would have happened."

"Oui, mon Capitan."

Before a response could be made, Maron could hear the announcer's voice echoing in the main gym.

"Good lord. Already?" he blurted out. The opening ceremony must've started. Hastily, he threw on the rest of his gear and tossed his items into the nearest locker. Soaka followed suit and the two rushed out to the gym before they could miss anything… only to find that there wasn't really anything to miss.

In the center of the ring, the announcer stood by himself and with all of the enthusiasm and spirit of fourteen cheerleaders, actually began stating the rules of the fights. Next to him, Maron noticed Soaka shaking his head in disbelief. "This guy's incredible," he said.

"He could make flies fucking a must-see event."

Soaka actually doubled over he started laughing hard. Instincts over took Maron and even he started to bust up at his own little joke. "That's the most ridiculous thing I think I've ever heard you say," Soaka said.

For a fleeting moment, there was no tournament in his head. Only the laughter existed. The downside of this was, of course, the fact that he looked toward the crowd when his mind wandered. At best, a few dozen more people had filed into the arena. Perhaps most surprising was the presence of so many families. Certainly, a few fighters had little brothers or sisters that could come cheer for them, but this was damn near every group of people. Wait, did one of them bring their cat?!

Whether or not that was the case, Maron never found out. He saw a man shimmy in next to his fangirl, and he who shimmied was the one they called Johnny. "Damn, this guy just won't let a grudge die!"

Soaka finally regained his composure and stood up straight. It didn't take long for him to spot who Maron spoke about. His friend's focus was going in and out like always. He needed to find a way to center his friend on the task at hand. This was no easy task – ever since Mora told him the truth, Maron had become something of a minor rebel. Short-tempered and instinctive, that he found out may have only brought to the surface what always existed. They were so much more alike five years ago. Not they were splitting apart, per se, but all the same, Soaka always felt a small rift between them ever since that day. Some other people knew about his troubled past. Johnny merely liked to bring that drama to the surface and provoke his friend.

"He's just here to get inside your head," Soaka told him.

In another surprising moment, Maron started laughing again. "Look at Captain Smooth Moves up there," he said. Soaka followed his friend's eyes and noticed Johnny trying to alpha-male it up and put his arm around Fangirl's shoulders. Only, the problem was, he noticed his casted hand as he went for his bread-and-butter. Sheepishly, he went back to a normal sitting position. "He and tweaks-a-lot up there should get together some time and chat it up."

Soaka looked at the man in the corner, and sure enough he was still rocking back and forth on the bench. Something about him truly felt unsettling.

With a thunderous jolt, a gong sounded. The sounds of soft murmuring filled the arena as the crowd came to life. Various figures shifted to and fro in quick, albeit careful, fashion. They both knew this only meant one thing:

The tournament had begun.


	7. The Round of 64

Chapter 7: The Round of 64

As per tradition, the first seeds were to open up the tournament. Groups of fighters began to spread to their respective rings. Maron watched as a small group shuffled over to the fourth ring, among them Kickmaster Torres. With a deep breath, he turned awkwardly to Soaka, put his hand out, and said, "Good luck out there."

"DeWitt's a damage sponge, but he dishes it out like a powder puff," Soaka replied. "You've got the tricky one this round."

Maron shrugged, "I think I have a plan on how to deal with Torres. I just need to mind the Tweaker."

Soaka again looked up at the man with unease. "Well, either way," he said as the man grinded away at his fingernails, "Good luck."

Maron nodded and turned towards to fourth ring. Whatever ate at his friend had to be put on the backburner for the time being. Jocan was already striding into the ring and ready to face Wentworth. Seeing him perform was an opportunity he had no interest in passing up on. The announcer also seemed to be pretty high on the long-haired fighter. "Jocan of course went through the entire season undefeated – this after a junior year where he only had 2 blemishes to his record! Wait until you see him move – that is, _if_ you can see him move!" Good lord, this guy.

… Good lord, Jocan. The second the official shouted, "Begin!" he flew forward at a blurring rate. Wentworth managed to parry the first couple of kicks that went his way, but right afterwards, his jaw got rocked by a right cross. Privately, and he thought that a few of the other's must've caught it from the way they reacted, Maron knew that those kicks were supposed to be blocked. The guy didn't just plan out a strategy, he fought _moves_ ahead of his opponents.

Wentworth somehow managed to collect himself long enough for a counterattack. Jocan sprung backwards and warded off a few attacks. One spot would open, only for Jocan to intercept any attacks going for its target. Then it Maron saw it: Jocan had Wentworth exposed, dead-bang.

With one of the hardest thrust-kicks Maron ever witnessed, Jocan kicked Wentworth clear out of the ring from over fifteen feet away from the edge. "An unbelievable display from one of the true prides of the region! Well done, Jocan!"

Maron privately took a moment to look over the bleachers. Surrell and Mora were both wide-eyed and undoubtedly thinking the same thing – he was a _dead man_ if he fought Jocan at any point. Stil, they managed to give him an encouraging thumbs up. The other person whose eyes were locked with his, though, only showed a told-you-so story. Carpenter was good for that sort of thing.

The next few fights he watched meticulously – all of the fighters showed a flair of skill, but none of them impressed him the way Jocan did. One of the biggest challenges he started to encounter was the need to focus on his next opponent. Simultaneously scouting and'nd prepping made for a difficult balance to strike. On whim, he stole a glance at the black-haired Torres. He maintained a hard stare at the platform. What went through his mind at that exact moment? Did he have the same doubts and fear as Maron? Or was he still confident from the first time he ever fought Soaka? After all, that had been a decent, albeit mostly one-sided battle. They never encountered another technique like that leg-striking again. There had to be a reason why…

"And now, in ring three, number eight seed Jordan DeWitt is set to go one-on-one with number 12 seed Soaka Cesaro!"

He couldn't help it; Maron stopped paying any attention to the fourth ring and turned to watch Soaka take on Jordan.

The two men faced each other in the ring. The announcer began to break it down: "DeWitt of course coming from the Northern section of the Southern… er, let me rephrase: Jordan put up a solid record this season in a tough area of our region. Soaka comes from the much-maligned Kerouac school in the Western district. He and fellow competitor Maron are the first students to represent their alma mater in over a decade!"

Out of the bleachers, a most obnoxious voice could be heard, "Wooo Soaka! You go get 'em you tiger, you!" This was, of course, Johnny doing his best to get inside the head of Soaka. Naturally, he didn't even seem to notice the sarcastic cheering.

The two squared up – DeWitt absolutely dwarfed Soaka. His stocky frame almost looked chubby in comparison to the other fighters present. What had Carpenter said about DeWitt? Something about clunky actions… Bah, Soaka knew better than Maron, he knew that much.

The official's voice called the start, "Begin!"

Soaka immediately relaxed his body and started bouncing in place. DeWitt steamrolled his way over and made the first move. Soaka ducked a right cross and delivered a quick elbow to the ribs before backpedaling. _"That's right," _Maron thought to himself, _"A bit of the old in-n-out." _Soaka memorized that book to a T and now deployed that strategy on Jordan in precise fashion.

Floating with grace, he'd duck in and deliver a single series of hard blows to the midsection before zooming back out of DeWitt's range. Jordan, ever the optimist, consistently charged in with almost identical series of moves. Right cross? BOOM! Ducked and elbowed in the ribs. Throwing a kick? BOOM! Ducked and assaulted on the other leg. A minute flat of this repeated four times… the guy was _tough_, though! No matter how solidly Soaka connected with his shots, DeWitt kept coming back for more. That's when Maron recalled Saizu's warning about him – don't wear yourselves down.

A sudden thud broke Maron's concentration as DeWitt feinted and changed his style! The second Soaka ducked under the right cross, his opponent's knee lifted up and connected with his chin. His friend stumbled backwards and tried to regain his footing, but the steamroller had start rolling, and stopping could prove to be difficult.

The assault came slow albeit powerful. Soaka parried, ducked and blocked with silky-smooth presence and managed to ward him off, but he was relentless. One more hole and – WHAM! A sharp right forearm across the face sent his friend to the floor. DeWitt moved in as quickly as he could… To Soaka's fortune, that still appeared to be too slow. From his back, Soaka hooked his foot around the heel of Dewitt and then kicked the kneecap above it. The heavy man fell to the floor, causing his head to snap back and smack against the concrete in a sickening visual. Soaka kipped up and took a moment to breath while Jordan collected himself.

That he was hurt was now obvious. For as clunky and rough around the edges as he was normally, he now stumbled his way towards Soaka. His friend saw his opportunity and seized it.

Changing his strategy, he sprinted forward and body-checked him with all of his weight into Jordan's guts. Even the bleachers, people could hear the air escaping his lungs. DeWitt fell down once more, but this time he didn't let up. Soaka dropped down and began pounding into DeWitt's ribs with vicious knee shots. One time. Two times. Three times. Audible hissing could be heard from people in the crowd who begged for DeWitt to just say it.

The sound of a faint voice could be heard. "Stop! Stop… I give up!"

"Unbelievable!" Announcer shouted as Soaka finally eased away from his fallen opponent. The sound of applause filled the arena like rain hitting a tin roof. DeWitt immediately went into the fetal position and coughed several times over. Maron never thought he'd see Soaka get so violent. "Soaka pulls off the first round upset against a capable opponent in DeWitt. I don't know you about all of you, but even I'm short of breath after watching those blows to the midsection!" It took a true talent to make something so damn painful sound so positive, that was for sure. Credit where credit's due, Announcer Guy stuck to his designated persona no matter what scenario presented itself.

His friend dropped from the arena and looked at Maron. "What?"

He shrugged, slightly dumbfounded. "Never seen you dish out a savage beating like that is all," he said.

Soaka ran a hand through his sandy hair and glanced back at DeWitt. "He expected grace and precision, so I knew that I had to change my style or risk getting caught in another series. Guy had me against the ropes, that's for sure."

Maron never would have guessed that was all part of the strategy. His friend grew into a true mastermind over the past few months.

"I just thought I'd throw a few kicks or… y'know, punches or something," Maron responded. Soaka only shook his head and chuckled at that.

"I'm sure you have something up your sleeve for Torres."

Maron nodded and spun around. In the bleachers he spotted Surrell and Mora standing in ovation and cheering louder than the rest of the arena. Surrell did have a quiet discomfort about her, though. Soaka no doubt felt aware of it, too. All the same, she came to support him and that's what she'd continue doing. In that same vein, Carpenter nodded in approval and gave a polite sort of applause that was fitting of a mentor who only expected the best from his students.

"DeWitt rises to his feet and… ah yes, a handshake offered to Soaka. Folks, this is a fine display of true sportsmanship!" Was he pulling off sappy now too?

Pushing all of this to the back of his mind, Maron watched as more fights unfolded in his ring. They were four deep in ring four now and he knew that he'd have to be ready for his fight in only a short while. The fifth seed would have his match next and then he'd be up against Torres in what promised to be one of the most challenging fights of his career up to that point.

As the match began in the ring, the two men locked eyes briefly. The façade of carefree attitude disappeared from Maron. Perhaps he'd been telling only a half-truth when he mentioned not having a strategy to Soaka, but then and there, he knew exactly what he had to do. Staring at the whites of Torres' eyes, it dawned on Maron that Soaka had been on to something about doing the unexpected. Right then and there, Maron decided that he'd do just the same, albeit in a slightly different style than his friend. He wouldn't fight against his own style; no, that sort of thing just wasn't he did best. He'd play to his opponent's _strengths_.

As if he sensed Maron formulating a plan, Torres broke the staredown and went back to watching the match unfold in the ring. The fifth seed, Daniel Ordaz, proved to be something of a sniper with his technique. Never going in deep unless it was for the kill, he constantly jabbed away at his opponent from a distant. Truth be told, it was a style bred to annoy more than hurt, though give it enough time and even a pin can feel like a scythe.

Finally worn down, his opponent's block barely warded off a light attack. That's when Ordaz went with the same technique, only this time with a hurricane force that broke right through his opponent's feeble defenses and knocked him down. Following up quick as a tiger, Ordaz put that same arm that gave in a brutal-looking stretch hold designed to tear away at the triceps. Naturally, the tapout was academic.

So came the time. With the match in the ring closing out, Maron knew it was his turn to step into the arena next. Only a ten minute gap between the matches stood in his way at this point. Briefly, he gave Carpenter a knowing look, causing his coach to return with a more intrigued one.

"And now folks, if you'll direct your attention to fourth ring, we have quite the matchup set with Markus Torres set to take on the fourteenth-seeded Maron!" He slowly walked on to the platform as the announcer continued. "Two fighters from the same district, they're no doubt familiar with each other. Torres' masterful Thousand-Kicks technique will no doubt dazzle you, but Maron's raw talent makes him a real darkhorse for the first-round upset!"

Vaguely, he heard Surrell and Mora shouting words of encouragement from the bleachers. Faintly, he heard Johnny's sarcastic cheers attempting to pierce his eardrum. Distantly, he even heard Fangirl whooing him on.

For as vague, distant, and faint as it all was, it quieted even more as he took his stance against Torres. His opponent chose to face with his body completely sided against Maron. In turn, he settled on a more traditional posture and took precious care to keep his left hand close to his chest. He would not repeat that same mistake Soaka made so many months ago.

The loudest noise he heard came like clapping thunder, "BEGIN!"

Maron came out the gate aggressively, forcing Torres to improvise right from the start. Target all sections of his body equal ferocity, Maron let his intentions be known. Expectedly, he met a sound defense from his opponent. Each attempted strike met a solid block from Torres, and each time he thought he found an opening, his attack got kicked away. It revealed exactly all Maron needed to know: Torres overly-depended on his leg assault. He let out another round of attacks, though this time intentionally less fierce than his predecessors.

Then he did the one thing he knew he had to do – he let Torres swat away one of his attacks, and then intentionally left a hold open. It had to be exact – too big and he might had, too small and it wouldn't have its intended effect. Privately, he felt he may've made everything too obvious.

The kick was solid, but nothing that would slow him down thirty seconds from them. Fortunately, it was hard enough that he could oversell it realistically.

Maron stumbled backwards a bit towards the nearest edge of the arena. Immediately, Torres changed his style. Planting his feet firmly in the ground, Torres became a coil ready to be unravel. He knew he had to focus, and somehow managed to keep the outside noise out of his head.

It started in blinding fashion. Watching Soaka have to battle it off was one thing, but to see the leg flinging in ever which direction when the target was himself felt different altogether. Torres moved in and started throwing his leg around like it were a spear. Maron forced himself to stay his ground and refused to back off like he'd witnessed in Soaka's fight. It took nearly a half minute of fighting off every single kick Maron knew existed and a few more on top of that to decipher any sort of pattern. It was… _ridiculous!_ He wondered whether he possessed the skill to exploit the single flaw in the technique he could find… and that second of doubt proved somewhat costly as he felt a sharp jolt across his right cheek.

Luck actually had a bit to do with it. If Torres had kicked straight-on per tradition, it likely would have wrecked Maron's chin and knocked him clean-out. As-is, Maron merely rolled off to the side. Torres, wise as any warrior there was, did not let up as Maron came to a knee. He ducked and ddoged- Inside, outside, duck, and then he spun around and swept out the leg from underneath Torres. He hit the ground in more of a heap than a thud, though, and managed to kip up at the same time as Maron. That's when things came to a momentary standstill.

"Unelievable!" Announcer shouted. "A fine display of back-and-forth action between two, in this announcer's humble opinion, highly underrate- and they're at it again! WOW!"

Indeed, Torres felt he had the advantage and wanted to press it while he still had the chance.

Springing forward, he lunged in the same fashion as before. Finally, Maron began to follow the two-dimensional-esque approach as he start warding off attack after attack. Roundhouse, snap kick, double-up, outside-in… the _sidekick_.

He went back to playing defense as before. Only this time Maron was doing just that: playing. With patience, he managed to fight off several unnecessary kicks before he finally found the true threat of the bunch.

Maron leaned off to the side when the sidekick came in straight-on. Torres overstayed his own welcome just the slightest amount and the flaw was exploited. Catching the leg as it extended to its furthest point, Maron swung his foot around and swept the planted foot out from underneath Torres. In one swift motion, Torres fell backwards and hit the floor, and like an archer drawing his bow, Maron tugged the leg as hard as could over Torres' shoulder. A sharp breath of pain escaped his lips as the hamstring stretched to its furthest limit and then some. Though injured, he was still smooth. Torres feigned reaching for his ailing limb and quickly swung his good leg around to knock Maron over. In spite of this, he was still the first of the two up.

Now hobbled, the following series came as a matter of routine. Almost with formality, Torres started to strike with his arms. He couldn't kick for damn with that pulled muscle, and his mastery of the Thousand Kicks became a moot point. The advantage lied squarely with Maron.

Ever the opportunistic one, Maron caught a punch and delivered a sharp elbow to Torres' face. In the same maneuver, he reached and grabbed the back of his head before pulling him down to meet a knee to the face. As Torres reeled upward, he brought his free hand around and delivered a solid blow across the jaw, wrapped his arm around the chin, and sunk in a Dagon sleeper. Submission were not Maron's forte, but that did not prevent Torres from immediately slapping his arm with what strength he had left.

Almost the instant that Maron released the hold and dropped Torres to the floor, the announcer bust out some of his old classics: "Holy cow, folks! What a matchup that was!"

Suddenly, noise drowned the air once more as Maron remembered exactly where he was. Vividly, he saw Surrell and Mora standing and cheering him on. With clarity, he saw Carpenter nodding in approval. Plain as day, Maron saw Johnny give him a bitter look. Something about it struck him has odd… as if he'd actually wanted Maron to win. The look felt like that of a plotter, with a deep rage in his eyes that declared he'd get even no matter what.

… Then he drifter over to the left and he saw Fangirl cheering him on. Whatever came over him, he'd never know, but in his head, he knew that for some reason he smiled then and there.

"Truly a classic of the high school regionals!" Announcer Guy shouted. "This has been a day chock-full of awesome fighting, folks! One can only imagine what the rest of it will bring!"

As Soaka came up to slap Maron on the back, he surveyed the crowd one last time. Be it his family, his coach, his rival, or a tweaker, he couldn't help but agree with Announcer Guy on one thing: he couldn't imagine what the rest of it would bring.


	8. Before the Storm

Chapter 8: Before the Storm

It was the time of evening where everything had an orange hue to it. The five of them gathered just outside the arena. It had been an intense day of action; Soaka warded off the damage sponge, and Maron bested the kick-master. Carpenter dished out compliments left and right while Surrell and Mora both just nodded on.

"Soaka, the way you shifted into a raw, unhinged style was impressive," he told them, "and Maron, that final combination blew my mind."

Maron's eyebrows shot up in response and he shrugged in mock-casualty.

"Has the chatterbox been silenced?" Soaka asked. "After all of these years, I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before, Maron." He clapped his friend on the back, causing him to jolt forward a little bit. "You're so adorable when you're embarrassed."

He only half-faked the laugh he gave. "And what do I have to be embarrassed about?"

Surrell reached forward and tugged on Maron's arm. It was such an odd action for her. What in the world could she be getting at? In all the years the two of them interacted, such a gesture never came between them. He felt baffled, fooled, bamboozled, hoodwinked, tri- "Maron," she said to him, "before you drift into la-la land, do you mind introducing us to your fan?"

The fan! In all of the excitement, Maron had completely forgotten about her and her auburn hair… Wait, why did he care about her hair? That was something he'd never worried about before. Perhaps turning to get a good look at her would solve the problem.

A single sound drowned out his intrigue as he slowly spun to greet the alleged fan. A sharp gust of air, nigh a sniffle, overwhelmed any feelings that had building towards that slow crescendo of excitement. No, Maron would not turn around and see the mysterious auburn drapes framing the soft ski- damn it! _"Drop it for now," _he thought to himself, _"there are more important things to get hung up on."_ He was right, too. For example, why instead of his fangirl did he turn around to face not Johnny, not Saizu, and certainly not a fellow fighter? No, why did he turn to face none other than, "The Tweaker," he heard Soaka mutter under his breath.

Inside his head, Maron said the same thing. At least he was conventional enough to keep his mouth shut.

The Tweaker lacked any real since. "Saw you out there today, man." Up close, Maron got a better look at the Tweaker. His fidgets felt even more extreme up close. His pale skin moved this way and that, and his shiny, creamlike mane flowed smoothly through the air whenever his head bulged. Surprisingly short for such a lanky build, his scrawniness had to have stemmed from some sort of substance abuse. "You looked good, real good."

He spoke as quickly as he flinched. "… Thanks," Maron said, wondering if his unease came through his voice as much as he thought he did. "He was a tough opponent."

"No doubt, no doubt." Even though he sounded conversational, his voice felt as a whisper. It was as if he breathed every syllable instead of spoke it. "Anyways, I just wanted to get to talk to you and your friend, there, a bit before the next round." He gestured to Soaka. "Got a lot of faith in you two. Lot of faith."

Just before Maron had a chance to say something stupid, Soaka cut in, "Well, we appreciate the faith… just don't know how we've earned it yet."

The Tweaker shrugged and waved this notion off. "Don't need to see more than one fight to know what you two are capable of." He said each sentence with a weird shadow of a smile. For a brief instant, Maron's eyes met Mora and they shared a moment of bemused discomfort. "The way you lured Torres into that little trap of yours was a clever ploy. Takes real skill to slow-roll someone like that. Real skill. And that finishing combination. Smooth."

"See?" Carpenter said. "Told you it was brilliant."

A heavy feeling of silence filled the air, and awkward danced lightly on top of it. "And who do we thank for the compliments?" Soaka asked.

The Tweaker stuck his hand out, still with that shadowy smile. It felt crazy, but Maron didn't want to return the favor. He eventually did clasp hands with the man, but not out of some sort of genuine show of appreciation. No, he shook his hand mechanically, without warmth or depth, as if he too had something to hide in the shadows. "Turner."

"Beg your pardon?" Maron asked.

"Name's Craig Turner."

Soaka stepped forward and willingly shook his hand also. Whether he shared any of Maron's doubts couldn't be discerned. "Well… it was nice meeting you Craig. Maybe we'll see you in the bleachers."

Then the shadows lifted themselves and real grin came forward. "No maybe about it," he told them. "I guarantee we'll run into each other next round."

"Yeah…" Maron said. "Well, see you around." He signaled a quick thumb's up, turned, and walked away. He hadn't even acknowledged the presence of the others in the group. "Something about that guy is off."

Surrell responded first, "I don't know. I mean, sure, he was a bit awkward and all, but he seems pretty normal to me."

Much to the surprise of the others, Carpenter shook his head, "No. There's something more to the guy… it's not just the way he presents himself. As faint as I can detect it, I know I felt it," he said. Maron raised a curious eyebrow and waited patiently for Carpenter to continue. His coach unfolded his and looked out towards the field neighboring the gym. "He has a strong ki about him."

Soaka also dove into what Carpenter told them. "You can sense the ki of others?"

"With the proper amount of training, sure. It has to be a decent level, though… the average person isn't detectable unless you're physically touching."

"So who do you think he is?"

Carpenter shook his head. "Don't have a clue. All I know is that he knows his stuff, and that he's taken an interest in you two. Whether that's good or bad, I can't say. Just… keep a close eye on the guy is all."

Given that they were heading into the second round and likely the toughest fights they'd ever been in up to that point, it felt impossible. Soaka shook his head. When even Carpenter felt uneasy about someone alongside him and Maron, problems were bound to arise. He gripped Surrell around the waste a little harder than usual, not really noticing what he was doing. Her eyes met his and he knew that she sensed his concern. When their eyes locked like that, he knew that what belonged to her belonged to him, and what belonged to him to her. She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. That alone gave him the confidence boost he'd need in any fight.

*****  
>Getting through round 2 would prove to be far more difficult than the first for either man. They'd both drawn tough slots in their respective rings. Maron had to deal the second seed while Soaka drew number four.<p>

During their latest round of reviews with Carpenter, the tables turned in that it was Soaka who seemed unable to focus on the task at hand. Maron listed off ways to counter the dancing-styled fighting of Carl Dougherty and exploit his overly-fancy technique. Soaka, on the other hand, hadn't put an ounce of thought into how he'd handle Christopher Nowak's smashmouth offense and his juggernaut right hand.

"No, no, no," Carpenter said in frustration as Soaka ducked under a spinning left kick. "You've got to get the hand up to protect against the backfist. Nowak likes a sneaky right-hand. He won't come at you from the obvious angle. If you don't have time to chop-block his base, get both arms up to prepare for that killing blow."

Soaka nodded and muttered an apology, but it felt half-hearted. Carpenter repeated the action, and this time he did as told, following through with a quick elbow to Carpenter's ribs.

"Much better." He stood up and looked to Maron. It was his hope that he didn't show his concern outside. Most likely, he didn't have to. "Soaka," Carpenter started, "what's eating you?" Nope, didn't have to.

Soaka sighed, wiped a thin layer of sweat from his brow, and shifted uneasily. For a brief moment, he said nothing and turned away, surveying the gym they'd spent so much time in. "I wanted Saizu to be here," he started. Maron knew he had more to say, but Carpenter had not become accustomed to Soaka's style of announcing something.

"Saizu had a family matter to attend to, I told you that-

"I know," Soaka interrupted Carpenter. It seemed to ruffle the coach's feathers something fierce. "Sorry for interrupting," he said without turning. At least his intuition hadn't cracked. "I've been talking with Surrell a lot lately."

"What about," Carpenter asked. His voice sounded hard, but his demeanor softened a little as he'd caught on.

"She got news yesterday that she's been accepted into North District University," he said. "Literally on the other side of the continent. After the summer, she's moving on."

Surrell was moving away? That was big news… but she and Soaka proved inseparable during high school. What did that mean for his friend? Would he follow her into the north? Would they split up? Both seemed as wild as the other, and suddenly the sad reality dawned on him that no matter how close your bond with someone is, one day, it'll be stretched to its thinnest point. Whether or not it'd ever break… well that was a different story. Deep somewhere inside, he felt like the end started right then and there. With some effort, he managed to bring some words forward. "What's that mean for you?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Hadn't had a moment to really think about it."

"Eesh…" Maron said. He wanted to walk up to his friend and shake some sense into him, but he knew he'd be the same way in his position. Soaka's passion for fighting only went so far next to his – for him to lose focus on fighting during a big tournament when something this big came up… well, it actually didn't feel all that surprising after all.

"So… this is a big thing," Carpenter said. Then he gritted his teeth and forced out, "that she just decided to bring up during the most important tournament of your fighting careers."

He finally turned back to Carpenter and shrugged. "Maybe the last tournament," he responded.

His coach gave him a bewildered look and leaned back in his chair. Clearly, this idea of not moving on came to his as a crime. All of that potential Soaka had – and he'd just throw it all away so early? "Well… let's not worry about that for now he said. There's a fight to focus on."

"Right…" Soaka said, again going a bit distant with his responses. "Focus on the fight. Need to be ready for whatever tomorrow might bring."

The two were in the locker room getting ready for the fight. Maron had gotten there well before Soaka, obviously as focused as he'd ever been on a fight before. Something in him had change, and somehow Soaka's announcement pushed him even further into lockdown mode. Maybe something in his head convinced him that if pushed himself even further, their old adolescent competitiveness would resurface and his friend would return to the fold like old. Maybe…

"You think you're ready for Nowak?" he asked, hoping to strike up a conversation with the distracted one. "I mean, I know I'm not 100% ready for Dougherty, but I'm a spazz when it comes to planning and well, I thought maybe your approach might help me."

Soaka nodded as he threw his uniform on. "So long as my opponent's still Nowak, I think I've got a solid strategy put together."

They could hear Announcer Guy doing his spiel. "Well, I don't want to miss any action out there," Maron told Soaka. His friend gave him the routine clap on the back and gave him a reassuring smile. If only he could know the turmoil that Soaka had been experiencing over the last 48 hours. The high of winning his fight, his unease in the evening conversation, and then Surrell's news… The traditional metaphor of a rollercoaster fit his situation rather aptly. It was any wonder he got through last night with Carpenter being even remotely satisfied.

"Don't worry," Soaka told him, "I'll be out there soon enough."

Maron entered the arena to find surprisingly more-crowded bleachers. They were still about half-empty, but compared to the first round, it felt positively packed. He'd never had this many eyes on him before, and wondered if he ever would again. Sure, he could fight his way through tournaments all he wanted, but what would happen when he peaked? No, Maron had to push that thought away. For him to go down that road, he had to convince himself that his mountain was the tallest, his crest longer than the others, his summit greater than the rest.

He made sure these thoughts were in his head even as Announcer Guy introduced Jocan for his next fight. His movements were so fluid and yet so dynamic… his style demanded attention. Maron saw fit to watch every single moment he was the ring and soak it all in. Quick and yet powerful, swift and yet blunt, precise and yet explosive – this guy proved to be the total package. Even as his opponent refused to bite at the same bait as the first round, one could see the calm confidence that just oozed from him. When one feint didn't work, he switched to the other. His opponent moved in and played the aggressor, and Jocan immediately play overwhelmed. Maron saw right through it – many spectators probably did. In the actual fight, though, it might've been impossible to pick up.

Blocks went up at the last second, but they all were in exactly the right spot to switch to the next moment. He played this card for three or four moves before he found a hole that he could exploit. Maron caught it just before it happened – a gap the size of a baseball opened up near the solar plexus and Jocan did not miss his target.

His opponent immediately crumpled up and hit the floor, groaning in pain. Slowly, he tried to regain his footing, but Jocan followed up with a quick kick to the jaw to knock him out cold. It went longer than his first fight, but the result was the same. His year remained perfect.

"An unbelievable performance by Jocan once again! Credit to Matthews for his performance in that fight – for a moment there, the upper hand was his! The overwhelming skill of Jocan just proved to be too much!"

He took a moment to walk away from the ring. Odd, he still hadn't seen Soaka there. Surveying the bleachers, he caught a glimpse of Surrell, but Mora was not with her. Strange indeed. What's more, he spotted Fangirl sitting a few rows in. She gave a hopeful wave to him, but sheepishly, he acted as if he'd just been scanning the area around her. It was a half-lie to himself – truthfully, he wondered if Johnny were somewhere out there, trying to get under his skin at just the right moment… but to no avail. Had he truly given up in his relentless taunt-attack? No amount of martial arts in the world could surmount the kind of sustained assault he'd kept up for months. The relief he felt at the mere concept of a world without Johnny's bullshit was palpable.

However long he must've been staring out into the bleachers eluded him, because an announcement suddenly grabbed his attention. "Next up, we have blunt-force of Christopher Nowak slated to fight the upstart Soaka Cesaro!"

With giddy eagerness, he ran over to the ring to watch his friend enter… and yet, it dawned on him that he could not spot him anywhere. As a matter of fact, he hadn't run into Soaka since wishing him luck in the locker room. Desperately, he surveyed the scene for his friend but could not find him anywhere.

"Soaka, if you're out there please make your way to the ring!"

He turned and locked eyes with Carpenter. His coach, as gruff as he tended to be, for once looked a bit shaken. Doubtful his future may have been, but to be absent from a fight was not his style. Whenever he agreed to something, Soaka saw it all of the way through. "Damn it," Maron said as his eyes dashed around the room time and time again.

"If you do not enter the ring by the count of ten, Soaka, I'm afraid we will have to accept that as a forfeit," Announcer Guy stated. And then the count started, "One… Two… Three."

Each passing moment and number burned into Maron's head a little more. His concern grew to worry, and maybe even a layer of panic started to bubble underneath it all. Something here was not right, but what could it be… what could it be? "Where could he be?"


	9. Assault

Chapter 9: Assault

Soaka finished throwing his uniform on and decided to take one final seat on the bench in the locker room before heading out there.

So much had gone on the past months of his life. What happened to the quaint peacefulness he had felt beforehand? Just him and Maron dicking around after school, not a care in the world. Could it be that it was all slipping away now? Is this what the end of high school meant? The rest of life spent drifting apart from your friends and family, your loved ones going separate ways and pursuing goals. Soaka couldn't bear the thought of either Surrell or Maron ceasing to be near him, but more and more, it looked like he didn't have a choice in the matter. Surrell committed herself to going to Northern U; while Maron would not let the dream of being world champion elude him one day. He'd have to cut one of them out of the loop.

Their perfect circle, their little close-cut friendship… its peace came under threat of being shattered. All because of one little decision. Sure, they'd gone under strains before. He remembered the day that he'd seen Maron and Surrell walking down on the high school track together. The two never talked before then, never got along really at all. Yet somehow, they'd found themselves in their own little world at dusk. Even with a glare striking his eyes, he could see the two laughing and carrying away through his squinting. It had been such a musty day, hot and thick from the downpour days prior. Summers in the south were always bad, but he'd never felt so exhausted as he had then. Exhausted from the two of them refusing to talk, exhausted from their sudden discovery of each other's personalities, exhausted from the wrong thoughts that he knew had no shot of being real. And yet there they had been that day, doing everything except making physical contact. Would they have done the same thing if they knew Soaka watched them? How long had they been carrying on this odd ritual? Walking the track together, sharing private little jokes… and did it ever stop? Tracking them might've been impossible, but sometimes it seemed like he wound up the odd man out, sitting at home while Maron had wandered out to nowhere and Surrell had gotten called into work. Was the thought really so crazy that something may have developed there?... Yes, it had to be. Maron was more than friend, he was Soaka's-

_Bang!_ A locker door somewhere distant popped him out of his daze. Soaka rose from the bench, threw his belt on and walked over to a mirror.

Looking at the reflection, he nodded once with a serious look. "Relax Soaka, you've got this."

His thoughts now solely on Nowak, he turned away and walked towards the door out of the locker room. Everything felt amplified in his focus – he could hear his footsteps, feel the cold concrete against his feet. The air dripped with the noise of pipes creaking and faucets leaking. For the first time all day, Soaka locked in completely.

The door swung open and he stepped into the hall. The sounds of the crowd felt oddly distant as he turned and started to make his way over to the arena. Then he saw two, rather unsettling sights – a pair of closed doors, and Johnny standing in front of them with a smile on his face.

"Johnny…" Soaka said cautiously.

"Soaka," he responded. His demeanor remained so cocky. His smirk had been glued on at some point in the recent past. He had the look of someone who had the drop on his opponent.

The situation rattled him something fierce. "What's going on?"

A third voice came from behind. One that he hadn't expected, and yet identified immediately as something he should have known all along. It had the sound of a loud whisper, raspy and yet bold. It soaked itself in boozy confidence, but the one whom possessed the voice had no inflicting intoxications. "Like I told you before, you looked impressive out there." And a single sniffle sealed the deal.

He turned and saw Craig Turner looking at him from the other end of the hall, the doors behind him also blocked off.

"What's going on?"

The thing, pale man began to stroll up to him, casual as could be. His hands were clasped behind his back in a restful way. His intentions, though, were obvious. "Oh, I put a lot faith in yesterday, like I said. Lot of faith." He showed his palms to Soaka and grinned a little wider, "Thought maybe it'd be a good idea to put that faith to the test."

Soaka turned towards Johnny, who now leaned against the door with his arms folded. It'd be easy to plow right through him and get out into the arena. No doubt it'd cause some sort of panic, but at this point, what was the better option? Craig was a loose cannon, but there were at least thirty trained fighters out there along with plenty of their coaches and mentors. They could subdue Craig to be sure. Yeah, that had to be his best choice.

"Careful Young Jock Johnny," Craig Turner called after him, "I think Stoic Soaka's going to make a run for it."

If nothing else, that this caused Johnny to look unnerved felt like some sort of victory. Still though, there was no time to drink it in. Soaka made a break for the door. One step, two steps, three clear – he was closing in fast and Johnny looked ready to break and dive out his way. The satisfaction of delivering a quick blow on the way out would be too sweet to resist! Yet Soaka knew there'd be no time. If Craig was half the fighter that Carpenter seemed to think he was, he'd-

He felt a tug on his uniform! _He'd already caught up to him!_ How fast was this guy? Soaka spun and crossed his arms. The quick motion allowed the top half of his uniform to come off, leaving only his shirt underneath as covering for his upper body. Unfortunately, this did not catch his opponent off-guard, nor did it leave him staggering. He plucked away at the white karategi like a magician pulling the cloth from underneath dishes. It slid off Soaka's back and any forward momentum he'd gained disappeared. Johnny even took the opportunity to shove towards Craig as hard as he could, though it barely caused Soaka to move more than a step.

A step, though, proved to plenty. Craig immediately dove into his attack. Elbow smashes, hard right-crosses, knee after knee – it was a close-range massacre that Soaka barely managed to block or dodge any of it. His assault didn't just come with power and speed, it came with wildness. He moved so erratically. It was a wonder he managed to block any of the shots.

He felt that he had to take a chance. Soaka caught a knee, reared back, and smashed his head into Craig's nose. In an instant, he wobbled and staggered backwards. Turner also moved back a few steps and shook his head. It felt like he'd pounded his head against steel. The only benefit he got from that was a nosebleed on Craig… and _he smiled at Soaka_. A single small trail of blood went down his nose and as he grinned, it caught against his teeth.

Wiping his sleeve against his face, Craig sniffed once and said, "Not bad, little man. Now, let's up the ante, eh?"

Once again, he sprang into action. Every time he ran into Soaka's defense, it caused his limbs to burn. Such strength seemed ridiculous – how had he ever managed to achieve it? Soaka thought he'd hit peak-physical capabilities, but this guy was far beyond him. The only option would be to create some sort of opportunity for escape.

He felt a blow cross his jaw. It wasn't strong enough to stagger or knock him backwards, but it hurt nonetheless. The stinging sensation dug into his senses, but he had to focus. Being careful not to stop, Soaka tried to keep going at it.

His only chance at this point was to play the aggressor and trip Craig up. After another wild miss from his opponent, Soaka spun around, dropped to a knee, and chop-blocked him. For a brief moment, he amused himself with the reminded that it had been that exact tactic Carpenter showed him the day before. Turner dropped to a single knee, and Soaka spun back upwards. His foot followed through with the most powerful kick he could muster.

Much to his surprise, it proved enough to cause Craig to fall back and grunt in pain. This was his opportunity. Soaka swung around and made a mad dash for the door. His jaw burned, his bones ached from the abuse they'd absorbed, but damn it, he found a way out! The walls echoed with the sounds of his footsteps, and he could hear Craig already getting back to his feet. He must've just rolled through it to get up so quickly. This time, though, he had a gap between the two of them. By his calculations, it should have been just enough space to-

_Wham!_ His rib cage turned inward as he felt someone tackle and pin him up against the wall. With panic, he realized he'd forgotten about Johnny! "Always remember your environment," Carpenter had told him. How had he let such an important lesson slip from his mind?

While Johnny managed to stop him, he could at least break the hold. Soaka smashed down on Johnny's back with an axe-handle blow, then let out a yell as he lifted his kneed right into his tormentor's gut. That did it! Johnny collapsed to the ground in a moaning heap. Yet the footsteps grew louder, and he knew Craig had already made his way over to the two of them.

He turned and faced him just in time to stop a hard punch. He caught the follow-up and jabbed at Craig. The pale one batted the attack away in ho-hum fashion. Had he been toying with Soaka the whole time, or was it a front?

Another punching attack parried, this time followed with a light shot across the face. The pattern repeated again. Frustrated, Soaka feinted with another identical attack, but stopped short. Craig took the bait, and Soaka lifted himself off the ground and snapped a forceful kick to his chin. Again, he had him staggered, but this time, he knew he couldn't get away.

Not seeing any other options, he decided the best option was to go in and try to surprise him. He managed to knock a hard underhand jab into Turner's ribs. He swung around with his left and knocked him across the chin. His opponent kept stumbling backwards. He stumbled a bit more and started to turn. Now he stretched his palm towards the ground and his front half started to bend. Did he get another knock down?

No… no he hadn't. Once again, Craig somersaulted as he fell over, popped up with vigor, and spun around. He looked as though he'd been in a fight, and his breathing had hardened a bit. Yet Soaka's lungs were bursting and imploding with every breath, his brow thick and slick with sweat. He'd gotten more shots in, but Craig had done more damage.

"You would've gone far in this tournament," he told Soaka. "It's been a while since I took some shots like that."

"I…" Soaka breathed out, "got you more than you got me."

Craig nodded towards Johnny. "You got him, too." He came off as so affable, and yet somewhere beyond that veil, Soaka sense he was getting a kick out of all of this. "It's a shame, Soaka. I only took this job because he paid me."

_What?!_ Johnny had paid Craig to assault him? So he was some kind of rogue or mercenary? Why had Jonny done such a stupid thing? Why did he want to see them hurt? What were his plans for Maron...? What the hell was his problem?! "If you really think it's a shame, we can forget about this whole thing. Let Johnny deal with his own problems."

He shook his head. "Thing is, Soaka, he already gave me the silver. And once I get paid to do a job, I make sure it gets done right!"

Their little break ended as Craig charged forward, this time somehow even more ferocious than before. He managed to ward it off at first – block, block, duck, slide left, duck, block – but the speed and strength were even more potent than before, and he couldn't keep it up forever. He blocked a swinging forearm, but immediately panicked when he realized his body had opened up. Craig did not miss. He double-tapped his knee and face without dropping his leg as he did so, and circled his body around and swept Soaka right foot from underneath him. He crashed to the floor, the back of his head taking the brunt of the fall. Soaka quickly regained his footing, but that was all adrenaline.

Now that he made it back to his feet, the walls warped and twisted in front of him. Craig stood at the ready, tilting this way and that. The whole world wobbled. He couldn't think, couldn't make sense of anything. Craig ran directly at him once more, and Soaka lazily poked with his right hand. With not surprise, he caught the flimsy attempt at a strike. Turning away from Soaka, Craig bent his hip and tugged as hard as he could. It felt like his shoulder left its socket as he whipped forward and crashed into the hardwood floor again.

Stunned, broken, and beaten, Soaka wasn't thinking straight any more. He started pushing himself off of the floor. His whole body burned in pain. _Crack!_ Craig stomped on his back and knocked him back down. How far was he going to take this?

Not wanting to give in, he started rising to his feet again. Much to his surprise, Craig relaxed and took a step backwards. "You just don't get it, do you?" he asked. He turned and looked at Johnny, who had just now started getting up from Soaka's strike to his gut.

The two of them locked eyes for a brief instant. He didn't see what he expected to. Johnny didn't smile or laugh. He didn't give any indication of satisfaction or joy. No, Johnny, for maybe the first time ever, looked _scared_. He kept his eyes focused on Johnny's, intent on making sure a message got through to his lifelong rival. What he'd done had crossed the line twice over. Wanting to show them up and get under their skin was one thing. The day he tried to beat Maron down at school was another entirely. At least it had been his undertaking, _his_ doing. Bringing someone like Craig into the picture… that sent an entirely different message. And now, though battered to the point of uselessness, Soaka knew that his eyes gave all the threat they'd ever need to give. Johnny was going to get his, one way or another.

With one final effort, he rose to his feet again. The world whirled around him in a blur. He could barely take a step without almost falling. He could see Craig standing there, within arm's reach. So why not send him a message to?

His arm must've flopped into Craig's tight grasp. "Kudos for having heart there, kid, but I don't like a man who doesn't know when to quit."

Soaka let out a yelp as his grip tightened even harder. He lifted the arm up and then shoved down with all a force that he'd never experienced before. It connected with a stoic knee, and his elbow bent backwards at the focal point. His scream must've been terrible. Hadn't anyone heard this entire struggle? No… the tournament had started. People must've been buzzing in there. Oh well, they'd come to his aid eventually. In the meantime, why not one more blow?

This time he tried a kick to the gut. Craig let it hit him, forceless as it was. He held Soaka up and wrapped his arm around his waist. Then he whispered into his ear, "That was your last mistake." His feet left the ground, his body jerked into the air. Craig let out a furious noise and turned his body around. Then he felt a pain he'd never felt before. It sounded like a grenade went off inside his head. His back smashed up against a metal support beam and his whole upper body contorted onward. Everything went numb.

He hit the floor and mindlessly looked on as Craig stood over him. The last thing he remembered was Johnny tugging at Craig's arm, insisting it was time to go. After that, everything faded to black…


	10. Breakdown

Chapter 10: Breakdown

The door wouldn't open.

"Goddamn it, why won't the door open?!" Maron shouted. The other fighters had started to gather around him, and even Announcer Guy had been rendered speechless. This went well past the count of 10 and a forfeit. Maron heard something on the other side of that door – he'd heard a scream. It came as a noise he'd never encountered before, but he knew all he wanted to. Something happened to Soaka, and he needed to know what it was.

He dove into the door with his shoulder. It caved a bit, but it did not open for him. At this point, he resorted to blindly pounding against it again and again.

It wasn't until someone bearhugged him and tugged him away fiercely that he stopped trying to get back. "Maron!" he heard Carpenter's voice call. "You've got to calm down, Maron!" Even though he knew it was pointless, Maron kept up the struggle. It wasn't until a whisper finally brought him down to earth that he calmed at all, "You're scaring Surrell and Mora half-to-death."

With only his eyes, he glanced towards their direction. They'd risen from the bleachers together, leaning in and whispering about… well, something. It was either Maron losing his mind or Soaka's absence, or maybe both. Either way, he had to center himself. His calm had to make its presence, even if he didn't necessarily welcome it at that exact moment. "Okay, you can let go," he whispered back.

Slowly and with reluctance, he did just that. Maron stood at ease for a moment and ran his hands over his face, then the top of his head, and all of the way to clasping them behind his neck. The suspense ate at him.

A surprising thing happened just then – "Step aside," came a voice, "let me get the door open."

Maron turned to find out just who it was that made this bold claim, only to see Jocan strolling his way up to the door. He gave it a good look and then whipped his hair a bit. To be fair, he never said that he he'd do it without bravado. "Damn near smashed it in," he said as he turned to Maron, "must've been one hell of a blast." Not aware that he did it, Maron rubbed his upper-right tricep, only faintly aware of the aching pangs that shot through them. While he did that, Jocan spun around, took a single step back, and lunged forward, pushing with all of the strength his legs could muster.

The foot connected with the flat steel and sure enough, the door busted out of the frame and fell to the floor the other side. Maron thought he might've heard Announcer Guy mention something about property damage, but no one really cared. Why should they? A fighter was not only missing, but many had to have heard the scream of pain that came from the other side.

Jocan stopped dead once he started towards the corridor. Maron pushed his way through the thin group of people who had managed to steal a spot in front of him in his effort to get a good look at what had transpired on the other side.

What he saw he did not expect, and it rocked him to the core. A blonde heap sat on the ground, not moving or responding to any of the noise around it. His right arm hung in an unnatural way – the elbow pointed one direction, the hand in a most unexpected one. From the head flowed a thin trail of crimson, slowly eeking its way towards the middle of the hallway. The early sun's light beamed into the room on the opposite wall, making the rag doll body lurk in the shadows. Little doubt remained then of what had happened – _someone_ had gotten to Soaka, and they'd done it in a bad way. The only questions that remained were who had done it, and why.

They'd pay… that much Maron knew. The rotten son-of-a-bitch bastard who did this was going to pay. He'd feel a pain like he'd never felt before. A hurt was coming to this fiend like no other. His whole body shook and tensed in anger.

Yet he had to keep calm. Such became to the dichotomy of the situation. He knelt down by his friend, turned to Carpenter, and merely said, "Call an ambulance."

Surrell and Mora made their way around the corner, and both made to move towards Soaka. Somehow, he'd never really remember how he did it, Maron managed to catch both of them and hold them back. All that he could ever remember was saying, "Space… please, he needs space." Whether or not it was true didn't matter. Then and there, he knew, they all needed to step away.

He stood there, clipboard and clicking pen in hand, reading off his notes. The doctor was a man obviously entering his middle years, bits of smoke started petering around the edges of his coal hair. Glasses sat across his nose reassuring that his eyes had passed their prime and started their decline along with them. His stiff posture revealed the nature of a true and tried professional who'd seen it all before. Maron realized that he was glad this was the man who'd be treating Soaka. "Firstly, the good news is that there is no real, permanent damage," the room released air all around as Mora wiped a tear away from her face. Carpenter exhaled heavily. Surrell grabbed Maron's arm in optimism and thanked her lucky stars. All the while he remained completely stoic, trying to keep any weaknesses hidden. The right arm is completely snapped, it'll need surgery to be repaired," he stated. "In addition, he suffered some internal damage surrounding the spinal area."

"The spine itself wasn't damaged?" Surrell asked. Maron had to be impressed with her. She had shown maybe even less emotion during all of this.

The doctor shook his head. "In something of a small miracle, a lot of the impact damaged to his back area was absorbed thanks to a weighted shit he was wearing at the time of the fight. The microweights shielded his back from the brunt of it."

"When can we see him?" Mora asked.

A frown said it all. "The intention is to treat the arm injury right away. The sooner that's mended the better he'll be. You'll see him ahead of time, of course, but he'll be out for another day before you'll get any real communication out of him."

A single day… would that be enough time? Maron turned to Surrell and started speaking quietly to her. "Will you be able to keep Mora company this long?"

The harsh nature of the look came unexpectedly. "You think you know who did this, don't you?" she asked.

Maron looked to Mora, trying and failing to hide her misery at her son's misfortune. Carpenter stood behind her, uneasy but as solid as he'd ever been. He didn't want either of them to hear this, so he gently guided her away from them. "I can't know for sure, but I've got a pretty good idea who was behind it, yeah."

Surrell shook her head, "It wasn't Johnny," she stated. "There's no way he's strong enough to take down either of you."

He shook his head. "Not alone, no, but with someone helping him…"

She stared at him a moment, expecting him to finish. It took a brief while, but then a knowing look came across her face as if to tell him that she knew exactly what he thought had gone down. "You think that pale guy had something to do with this?"

"Well, you met the guy. He just happens to introduce himself to us the day before this all happens? I don't think that's coincidence."

She opened her mouth to retort, but a sound came from behind Maron that he had not expected to hear in the slightest. "It's no coincidence." At first, a statement like that made him think Johnny, but the voice didn't match the person. No, it was the voice of an older man. One filled with knowing wisdom and confidence. He'd grown so familiar with its sound in the past months that just hearing it alone brought a wave of relief to him.

Still, all he could muster was a stupid, "Saizu?"

"David called me when you found Soaka. I took the first train available."

Maron turned to Carpenter… David? Wait, his name was David? God, he'd thought his name was Coach for the longest time, too… Without speaking, Carpenter communicated everything to Maron. He called Saizu down here for a reason.

"As soon as I heard the name Craig Turner, I knew something awful had happened," he said. His old habit of stroking his goatee returned. Even after a long train ride and months away somewhere, he still looked refined and solid as oak. So good at hiding his emotions, Maron tried to couldn't discern anything about Saizu's involvement with Craig. "Unpredictable, violent, misanthropic… he's all of these things. It's to be expected though, sadly. When one chooses a life on the Powder, they choose a life like his…"

He couldn't help but notice the waiver in his master's voice a little. There was more to the story than he let on, but Maron didn't want to find out what it was. No, nothing mattered to him other than Craig. His rage boiled over again. Anger overcame him like a tidal wave crashing into rocky cliffs, and finally the rocks started to crumble. He put his hand on Surrell's shoulder and told her, "You'll be okay with Mora, right?"

Surrell shook her head. "No."

"You have to be strong for h-

"That's not what I meant," she told him. For the first time all day, he really took a good look on her. Her typically smooth and refined brunette hair was sticking out every which direction, her jacket hung loosely over her summer clothing, her eyes spat fire. Surrell didn't need Maron to tell her to be strong. How he hadn't realized it earlier baffled him – Surrell simply _was_ strong. "Maron, I know what you're thinking, and you can't go through with it, okay?"

Mouth agape, no doubt eyes filled with a fire just like hers, he looked from Mora to Carpenter to Saizu. Three faces, three identical messages: Soaka needed him there. In all likelihood, they were right. The two were brothers; every experience in life, they'd gone through together. From first days at school to standing up to their bullies to learning the ways of ki, they'd always been side by side. And now Soaka was bed-ridden, broken by a man stronger than any challenge they'd gone up against before. A vicious foe who struck with sheer brutality. He'd hurt his best friend, he'd hurt his brother. Soaka stood up to him and he was alone. Three faces and three messages… Maron knew they held themselves in the right course of action. And a fourth had bluntly stated the same to him.

So why did he stubbornly shake his head? "No. It's not okay. I'm going to find that son of a bitch, and am going to get the answers I need."

He turned before anyone could say otherwise and began walking towards the entrance of the building. Mora called after him, and he heard someone's footsteps following closely behind him… They couldn't understand, though. They couldn't stop him. He and Soaka went through everything together, and Soaka fought and Soaka lost, and even if it meant doing the same, Maron knew he couldn't rest until his friend was avenged. Now it was Craig's turn to share their experiences. Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… Concussion, broken arm, bruising around the spine… He repeated it over and over in his head like a little prayer to gods. For every injury Soaka suffered, one for Craig.

He reached the threshold of the hospital entrance, still repeating the injuries in his head, when a forceful grip pulled him back and turned him around. Two pairs of eyes met, one Maron's, and one Saizu's. "Maron," he said, "You've learned a lot from me in the last few months in the ways of martial arts. Now hear a lesson of mine from my life experience."

He nodded in reply, giving him one shot.

"Choosing a dark path only leads to more darkness. You hear tails about redemption and coming out a better person, well forget about it."

"And so what? Wanting to help my friend is a dark path?"

"Even if the reasons are justifiable, a dark path is still a dark path."

Maron stopped a moment to think over the words he'd just heard… Saizu's gaze never stopped piercing him as he did so. The longer those eyes locked in, the longer the words lingered, the more they both bored underneath his skin and into his core. God, what had he been thinking? What could he do? He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to start crying.

His face contorted, he shook his head and managed to breath out, "I don't know what to do." Saizu, hands still clasped around Maron's shoulders, gently bowed his head in response. "I've never had to deal with this before, Saizu." It was the first time he'd ever referred to Saizu as anything other than a formal title. This wasn't his master or his teacher standing there with him. This was a friend. "I want to hurt him so bad."

He let go of Maron, stood up straight and heaved a heavy sigh. "Of course you do," he told him, "and perhaps in time you will get your chance."

"What happened between you and him?" he asked.

For the first time, Saizu looked rattled by a question. His face went through about four different emotions in such rapid succession that it was wonder a face could adjust so fast. He breathed off-time for a moment and looked around the room. Uncomfortable feelings swallowed the air around them. Just for a bit, he stared over to a family resting in a corner. A father, son and daughter all together, no doubt here for a relative of some sort. Perhaps the mother? It didn't matter, Maron realized. The family stuck together.

The two of them silently agreed to end the conversation and return to the group. When he returned, Mora walked over to him, guided him to a chair in the corner, and gave him a hug. "I know you think you need to be strong for us," she said.

He knew what she meant. After spending the whole day thinking he'd been the centered, focused one of the groups, Maron knew, they all had to be strong for him.

"The doctor says he'll need to rest up for another night before he can take any visitors," Surrell told the group. "I'm going to stay here for the time being…"

Carpenter nodded. "I'll wait with you," he said. He turned to Maron and Mora, "I think you two should take the opportunity to get some rest." Maron opened his mouth to protest, but Carpenter cut him off. "Soaka will be fine. Now it's you two that need to take some time to recover. The second we get word from the doctor, we'll get in touch with you."

Maron bowed his head and next to him, Mora only nodded. "Just… let me know if anything happens," she said.

"Of course."

The two of them left, got in their car, and went home. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. What could be said? There was no small talk to be done, no chit-chat to be had. Deep down inside, both were so exhausted that they knew the second their heads touched their pillows, they'd be out. Even with all of the worries and panic and anxiety, wear and tear will win out eventually.

She hung a right on to their street, the sun low in the sky signaling the start of a new day. God, what had happened to the last day? What did they do about the tournament? Where were they going to go from here? All of this spiraled around in his head as he started to close his eyes.

"Maron," came the voice of his mother. He shot up instantly and looked at her. She'd parked in their driveway, but hadn't turned off the car or moved at all. She gripped the steering wheel as tight as humanly possible, knuckles white and arms shaking. Her eyes focused solely on the front door of their house.

He followed her gaze, and realized instantly why she had grown so concerned.

The door had been knocked off of its hinges.

Maron threw his seatbelt off, flung the car door open, and gave her an ultimatum. "Wait here. If you see anything, call for me."

He threw the door shut and looked to the house. All exhaustion wiped away in an instant, he stepped meticulously towards the entryway. Someone had broken into their house, but he had the drop. His breathing shallowed. His heart raced. Step after step, his mindset bounced from one extreme to another. Deep within his aching guts, he hoped the dark path had been walked for him.

And then he raced in.


	11. Maron's Vow

Chapter 11: Maron's Vow

Shattered glass from the frames of family pictures scattered about the floor, tables overturned, cabinet doors hanging open, some torn off their very hinges, curtains and rapes turned into tattered rags hanging pointlessly in front of broken windows.

These were the things Maron found inside his home when he walked inside. An eerie stillness sat in the air, indicating nothing of the presence of others. Alert but more relaxed, he figured that hiding in the shadows wasn't Craig's style. Hell, based on Saizu's reaction, Maron the real surprise was that Craig hadn't come after him sooner.

He looked at his torn up couch… Craig. If Maron had his way, the son of a bitch _would_ have come after him sooner. The quicker he aired out whatever the hell his issue was with the two of them, the happier Maron would be. Or had his issue been with the two of them? No, Soaka didn't do or say anything offensive when they met. He'd introduced himself to them both for a reason. But what could it be? Why had he done the things he did?... Ah, who knew what made a man like him tick? The Powder did weird things to a person – made them change, become irrational. This must've been the same thing. It didn't matter, though. Craig had crossed the line when he assaulted Soaka, and he'd make sure the bast-

A shrill scream broke his train of thought. It came from outdoors! Maron sprinted towards the front yard and passed back outside of the threshold.

There was Craig. He was dragging Mora out of the car through the window! A thin streak of red went down her back where she'd been cut on the broken glass of the window.

He couldn't ever really remember the following sequence of events. He knew he charged in, blinded from a rage that not even Johnny could have unlocked. His threw his attack forward erratically, with a hostility that he never imagined himself capable of. The quickest exchange of strikes echoed in the hair around them – _thudthudthud!_ Rarely did a punch or kick make a noise, but in his own head, he hard thunder and cannons.

What he could remember was failing. Two hard strikes, one across the face that burned and one into his leg that knocked him to the ground and ached for days. Then a failure to stop a knee to his face. He managed to roll back to his feet, but Craig had already been after him again. Sure, he'd managed to stop a couple of strikes, and maybe even got a few of his own. At the end of the day, what really would stick out in his mind was the roundhouse that knocked him clear off his feet and caused him to hit the ground as hard as he ever had. Still with strength left, the only question that'd ever bother him was what might've happened if Craig had followed up then and there.

But he never did. Instead, he forced himself to make a mad dash from the scene as distant sounds of approaching sirens grew ever-closer to them.

The scene unfolded rather chaotically. The police arrived, some rushing into the house, some mistakenly trying to put Maron into cuffs.

"It's my house, damn it!" he shouted. "That's my mother!"

It took Mora backing the story, but they eventually let Maron go and sit down on the curb. They tended to her behind him, a long, albeit shallow cut across her back from the broken glass ailed her. He wanted nothing more than to go sit next her and make sure she was okay, but didn't have the opportunity before two cops started asking him questions.

"Sir," the one with the bent nose started, "Do you have any idea who did this."

For a brief instant, Maron humored himself with not letting anything slip. If anyone would get to catch Craig and bring justice to him, it ought to be someone truly affected by the terror he'd unleased on the group. Why should the cops get any chance at him? It's not like he'd ever hurt any of their families.

Alas, he looked at Bent Nose and told him, "Pale guy. Tall and lanky. Little bit older than me, but younger than you."

He knew the name… but he never actually said it. A few more standard questions went by – the who, what, when, where, why and how were all covered, of course. To the best of his ability, he answered any and all questions, covering the events of the past few days. Still, throughout the fifteen minutes of back-and-forth, he never once uttered the phrase Craig Turner. He told them that the same man probably attacked Soaka. He told them he never had any past grudges with the man. Hell, he even told them that the only reason any of this ever started to begin with was a high school rivalry he had with a jock named Johnny…

Johnny! Wait, could this all have been his work?! The thought caused his inside to light on fire. Burning in anger, he knew immediately what had to be done. He'd have to wait for Bent Nose and the others to clear out, but once they were gone, he was making a beeline to his old friend's house and paying him a visit.

"Maron?" a familiar voice came.

He turned his head and saw Saizu approaching from the sidewalk. Even as powerful and in-shape as he was, the man looked exhausted. "Saizu?"

He nodded. "I came as quick as I could. Are you okay?"

Was he okay? God, what a question. Angered, frothing at the mouth with rage, but okay? He never considered that. He touched the small cut on his mouth. Craig had struck him full-on in the face, but here he was, still with two feet on the ground and an able body ready for whatever the future may bring to him. So what else could he do but shrug? "Guess so."

"You saw him didn't you?" he asked.

Maron turned and looked at Bent Nose, now no doubt asking Mora the same questions he'd asked him not ten minutes ago. Concerned, he turned back to Saizu, "Quietly," was all he said.

Seeming to understand, his master strolled up and took a seat on the curb next to him. From his pocket he produced a pinkish apple and handed it to Maron. Only then did he realize how bad the hunger truly ached in his system. He snatched it away and took the largest bite he possibly could. The juice squirted on to his tongue and he immediately savored its powerful flavor. Sweet yet tart, it spread across his mouth and filled his mind with the delight of flavor. Lightly, it danced inside him as he chewed on the crisp flesh of the fruit.

"They call them Ruby Gems," Saizu said. "They're from the north, kind of hard to find in this area."

"They're delicious," he told him. Oddly enough, he even felt a bit happier. Strange euphoria started to settle in around him and he felt almost lightheaded in happiness. "Is thing laced or something?" he asked.

Saizu grinned a little. "In a matter of speaking…" he noticed Maron's sudden change to concern. He recovered quickly from his fumble, "Only kidding, naturally."

He wanted to laugh and pass of the joke like he would have normally, but he only nodded and hung his head toward the ground, a little lower than usual this time.

Saizu placed his hand gently on Maron's back, a gesture of comfort and reassurance. Maron wondered if the man knew of how blind he'd felt twice in less than a day. "You saw him, I take it," he began. Maron only nodded once. "You know at first, I thought he went after Soaka because of what he and I went through."

Finally, the time came for Maron to pipe up. "What happened between the two of you?" Saizu's face twitched once again, but this time he wasn't having it. "Listen, if I'm ever going to find out why he did this, I have to hear what went on between the two of you."

Almost in pain, he exhaled heavily and looked into the distance. Rain clouds approached from the west, where the Sun had started to fall towards the horizon. Hadn't he left the hospital after sunrise? Time didn't even seem to behave the same way it should have anymore. Maron didn't know whether it was him or the world around him, but ever since he'd punched Johnny in the face, the laws of nature just operated in a different way. "Craig Turner was an old student of mine."

That explained a good deal. "That's why he knew every single one of my attacks."

He tugged on his goatee with ferocity and nodded. "Yes, that is part of the equation," he told him. "I trained him from his very first days as a fighter and watched him grow, not unlike you and Soaka," he told Maron. "His first punch and kick were of my teaching. He had so much potential. If he just focused the world could have been his oyster. His raw skill is one that I'd never seen before, though only later would I realize that this was something many of my students and others would have… I put all of my heart into his training, and he put all of his heart into learning."

Maron shook his head and gave half of a laugh in response. He received a look of scold for it. "So what happened?"

His impatience irked his master, but he continued regardless. "He was also one of my very first students, and I'd still yet to learn that there was more to teaching than showing one how to punch, block, kick and dodge." He lowered his hand and glanced back towards Mora. Maron followed suit and saw them finishing a bandage across her spine. "So sad to talk about," Saizu said. Then he turned back around and looked towards the Sun again. Orange light bled on to his face and Maron saw now the shadows of pain that had hidden behind the clouds of the sky. "Craig decided that his strength could best be utilized to enforce his will on others. He grew violent, started attacking people unprovoked. I couldn't figure out what had happened to him."

"Then you learned about the Powder."

His head slowly indicated that was the case. "The poor fool had latched on to a drug that promised him more of everything. More speed, more strength, more skill… and yet he never realized that only two of the promises could be filled. Under the influence of the Powder, he grew erratic, lashing out for no real reason. I finally had enough after he'd injured a ten year-old boy in my parking lot for… I don't know, some wise crack he no doubt made about Craig's complexion. I had no choice but to cut him loose."

"And he's begrudged you ever since."

"That does seem to be the case." He sighed once more. "A student whose own master rejected him. No doubt he blames me for all of this troubles… maybe even his addiction. It's bothered me ever since."

So there it was. Craig's history with Saizu revealed. Yet it left a lot of question unsolved… namely, why him? "I don't think that explains him attacking us though."

Saizu gestured in agreement. "There's more to the story than just my part of it, to be sure."

A sudden realization swept over him. What Saizu had said to him before… the meaning of it all suddenly sank in. Somehow, the euphoria he'd felt from the apple disappeared in an instant. "Goddamn it, Master Saizu," he let out. "You see it now, don't you? What I said at the hospital, what you warned me against… that isn't the case here."

"Craig turned out the way he did because he sought trouble. I don't want to see the same thing happen to you," he retorted.

Maron shook his head. "You're a wise man, Master, wiser than anyone I've ever met, but you suffer from the same fault of everyone else: you can't let your past mistakes go." For him to talk like this to someone who'd influenced him so much… what came over him? "Just because Craig went down a dark path doesn't mean I'll do the same here."

"Maron, I-

"Stop it, will you?" Maron stood up and looked back towards Mora. She looked to him, sullen, and yet somehow filled with hope. He'd do everything he could for her. Hell… her husband died before he could even remember what he looked like, but she still chose to raise Maron on her own alongside Soaka. A single mother with one adopted child… her strength was something he'd never have. But he knew that same strength would at least prevent from ever going past the point of no return. Quick to anger he may be, his path was not a dark one. It never would be. He knew that much to be true. "He won't stop. You see that, don't you?"

Saizu also stood now, and he too turned to look to Mora. Did he see the same thing in her that Maron did? Could anyone see that aside from the ones she'd raised, Maron wondered? "Maybe I'm being overprotective," he said, "but you can at least understand my concern."

Maron nodded. "Of course," he told him. "But he's not going to stop." Maron looked at Mora one last time. She even managed a reassuring smile in his direction, as if to tell him everything would be okay. "Maybe at the hospital I was going down the wrong path… I don't know, maybe even one that would've ended badly for everyone. Me, Soaka, Mora… hell, maybe even Carpenter and you. No doubt I wasn't ready for him. I know that now."

"So I ask you, what's changed between then and now?"

"Just like I said," Maron continued, "he's not going to stop. Not until he's taken everything that's sacred away from me and Soaka. No no no… the path that I'm taking isn't a dark one, Master. I know that now. I doubted it before, but now I get it. It's the only one."

He put his hands on his hips and looked at the sun one last time. He looked like the full weight of his path had struck him across the face then and there. "Sun's going down," he told Maron. "Soon it'll be night again, and Craig's out there somewhere, and he knows that you're going to come after him." He shook his head. "Irrational he may seem to be, but he's still got some semblance of reason inside his head."

Maron finally joined him at looking towards the west. "What do you mean by all of that?" he asked.

"Mora got hurt today, sure," he said with a hint of sadness, "but he could have done a lot more than he did. He made the first move, and it almost paid off for him. Now he knows that he's got you provoked… and here you are, hiding facts from police officers and pretending its justice." He opened his mouth to respond, but Saizu cut him off at the pass, "I won't hold that against you. You do what you think is right and what you choose. I'll even stand by your side when the time comes… just know that this is not an easy way to go."

Maron agreed with him wholeheartedly. "It never is," he said. "But I'll find him, and I'll show him a thing or two."

"How will you do that?" Saizu responded. "You don't even know where to look for him."

He thought on those words for a bit. The start of a quest always came with the search. And every search needed to begin with a clue. So his journey would have to start with one that would point him in the right direction. Just like all of the great adventure stories he'd been told as a child, this one would start with the same concept: a hint of where he had to go next.

"I may not know where to look for him," he told Saizu, "but I know where to start. And I find what I'm looking for, and I _will_ find him, I swear he will rue the day he made all of those choices." He turned to his master and locked eyes with him. "You can't bring yourself to face him, but I can. And for you, I will show him that your way works. I swear it."

"But where do you begin?" Saizu asked.

For a long time, he pretended to not know why he smiled at that point in time. His friend laid in a hospital bed. His mother wept from a cut on her back. His master grieved for a past failure, and yet there he was, smiling about what would come next. Privately, though, he knew exactly what brought him such pleasure. He knew exactly why the future excited him so much. He knew exactly where to start looking for Craig.

All paths led to Johnny.


	12. Confessions

Chapter 12: Confessions

He wanted to go find Johnny. He wanted to ask him about everything happened between the two of them. He wanted the opportunity to pound him across the face time and time again should the truth be what he suspected it to.

So, then, why did he find himself next to Soaka's bed in the hospital?

Because as he'd started off down the street, a voice called him back. Mora had found her way inside, and on instinct, reconnected the phone to call the hospital to find out how things were going. Maron promised to stick with her until everything was confirmed, and Saizu pledged not to leave her side until the ugliness reached its final resolution. So the three of them stood tensely as they watched her from another room, able only to read her body language.

The oddness of her subtlety – usually she showed emotion on her sleeve, but mayhap her back hurt too much to move around too much. Either way, it left in a sudden as she shot straight up and heard the news. Maron knew what it meant. He knew that he could no longer go straight to Johnny and end it all. He knew that his friend awoke.

When Maron walked in the room, the gold light of noon flooded the room. His friend immediately turned his head as walked in. A smile had drawn itself across his face before he'd even seen Maron. "Good to see you remembered your friend," he prodded. Maron had to laugh.

"Trust me, I tried to forget."

He laughed a bit in approval, but quickly stopped and coughed painfully a few times. His breathy lunges echoed off the walls of the room. "I hear you've got your heart set on a rampage."

"Word travels fast apparently."

Soaka nodded. "Surrell seems to think you're a bit unstable right now." Maron turned his head back toward the door – of course she did. She saw the way he reacted both times. "I'm flattered."

Maron walked up and sat next to Soaka. With a heavy exhale, he started on about what happened just before he made his way to the hospital. "I know what you're going to say," he started to wrap it up. "I'm an idiot for wanting to go after this guy. I've got no real chance at beating him, I guess, but-

"Maron," Soaka interrupted him. He stopped talking immediately and was all ears. "You do have a chance at beating him."

"C'mon, Soaka, no offense, but you didn't exactly win that fight, you know?"

Soaka chuckled and leaned back and stared up to the ceiling. "True," he said, "Dickish, but true." He sat in silence and kept on staring. Maron knew that meant that something was stirring deep in that brain of his and let the quiet spread. Outside the door, he heard the chatter between everyone. He wondered what it was they were talking about. Could be anything anymore. Why couldn't things just go back to being simple? "You know," Soaka continued, "I may have gotten beaten, but I don't think I really lost the fight."

"You're in a hospital with a bruised spine and a broken arm."

"And you're in a hospital and being an asshole, but that doesn't stop you from trying to justify yourself, does it?" he said. That shut Maron up quick. "Listen, Craig's stronger and faster than I am, sure. He's quicker than anyone I've faced, and he delivered a beating. You know what, though? He's not a better fighter."

"What do you mean?"

He finally turned and faced Maron again. His one black eye had already gone away entirely. How could he heal so fast? "I got more good shots in than he did. Even someone as raw vanilla as me, I still managed to knock him off of his feet more than once. May not have done much damage, but it was enough to give myself exploitable openings."

Maron gave a knowing look and nodded a few times. He looked at the wall ahead and wondered for a moment. "How can I exploit those openings, though?"

He looked back to his friend, who still had that odd smile on his face. He folded his good arm over his chest and stared back at the ceiling. Patting himself lightly a few times, drumming his fingers, he pondered the question with deep thought. Still though, all he could muster was a simple, "You'll find a way."

"You know, I'm kind of surprised," Maron said. Soaka gave his usual inquisitive eyebrow. "I always thought you were something of a pacifist, and yet here you are, giving me pointers on how to deliver a blow to someone else."

Soaka laughed, "Eesh, you thought I was pacifist?" A pause. "Well… actually that's kind of true. But this guy's not going to stop, Maron."

"That's what I tried to tell them."

"In their defense, to them it probably looks like a random act of violence."

He stiffened his back and sat straight up. Soaka obviously found something out when he met Craig in that hallway. He needed to know. "Then it was planned?"

Soaka nodded and looked at Maron grimly. "More than planned, it was paid for." He stated. As solidly as he'd ever seen as friend, with a look so strong that you'd think his body had been repaired and rebuilt into something new, he told Maron all he needed to hear. "Craig wasn't alone, Maron," he said. "Johnny was with him."

After giving Soaka his well-wishes and reassuring him that things would change, he left the hospital room, looked at his four companions, and spoke to them as one. "What Soaka just told me… this guy won't stop, so I'm going to have to go find him and make him stop."

"What did he tell you?" Surrell asked.

Maron shook his head. No need to let that cat out of the bag just yet. If anything, that was Soaka's information to divulge. Surrell had long maintained that Johnny would stop bothering them at some point in time, and to tell her otherwise might've put a pessimistic smudge on what was otherwise her warm outlook on things. If Soaka was Maron's moral compass, Surrell was the pole that pulled the needle in the right direction.

He walked over to Carpenter without saying word, and signaled him to follow. Carpenter granted the request, and they separated themselves from the group. Now they could talk in private.

"Johnny paid Craig to come after us," He said.

Carpenter heaved heavily and threw his hands around the back of his neck. While he didn't say anything, Maron could see in his eyes that the man understood what he was saying. The two walked a little further down the hall in silence before he finally stopped and spun Maron around so that the two could face each other. "You can't go after him alone," he said. "The guy's too dangerous."

"And I can't leave Surrell and Mora alone. I mean… you saw what the guy did to our mother."

"I don't deny that," Carpenter conceded, "but we're in a hospital surrounded by security. If we request a watch, they'll grant it."

"I don't trust a watch," Maron said. "I trust you."

His coach reared back a bit in surprise. "Maron… I've seen you grow a lot over the past few months. Even more than I predicted, to be honest. Craig isn't just another high school fighter, though. The guy's a drugged out lunatic."

"Which is why I have to find him before he does any more damage to my family!" He stopped at the realization that he was shouting at his coach. Still though, apparently the reaction got the message through. Quickly calming himself, Maron held his hands up and looked at the ground. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just… I'd feel safer knowing that you were with Mora and Surrell."

"Understood," Carpenter said. "Listen, I know I don't wear my emotions on my sleeves a whole lot, and sometimes I have to. Because right now, Maron… I'm worried about you. And well, if staying at your family's side is what helps keep you collected, then that's what I'm going to do."

The acropolis could've crumbled completely, but the man would be the lone pillar standing tall where it once remained. "Thank you," Maron said.

"No problem… Now, there's only one thing I need to know from you."

"What's that?"

"How do you find a man that you know nothing about?"

Maron squinted and looked towards the doors. "I don't know nothing about him," he said. "I know that he's on the powder. I know he's dangerous." Then he paused and thought for a moment. There was one more thing that he knew about Craig Turner. "And I know he consorts with Johnny."

Dusk started its routine and the air cooled to a more tolerable temperature. The heat of summer bore down on many people, but he felt it wore on him more so this year than ever before. He'd done something that he never considered doing before, and he did in such a way that it made his stomach turn inside itself. What a rough time it'd been. It all started a few months back, too, when those two had thrown his whole routine off.

Johnny sat on the curb of his driveway and watched cars go by. He'd bitten off more than he could chew this time, to be sure. He'd made a mistake.

As he stood from the curb and stretched, he felt his stomach turn even harder, because at that exact moment, he saw his mistake walking down the street and making a beeline straight for him. What to do, what to do? He couldn't fight the guy, and Craig was in stealth mode at this point, trying to hide from whatever law enforcement they might've sent after him. Could he run?... No, no, the only place he could run was inside his house, and that's the last place he wanted Maron to be. Instead, he resigned to himself that it was time to dance to the beat of the music he'd started. He froze in place and watched as Maron grew ever closer.

Before he could even register what was happening, Maron grabbed him by the shirt and delivered a vicious headbutt right the skull.

He fell to the ground, immediately woozy from the ferocity of the blow. "Maron," he said. Now that the Sun wasn't behind him, he could make out the face underneath he moppy black hair, and in his eyes he saw hate. He _knew_. Soaka must've woken up.

Maron lifted him off the ground and grabbed him around his chin. "Why?" he said.

Johnny stammered as he tried to spit out a response. The sting of a slap across the face shook any cobwebs that might've been caught in his throat. "Maron, I-"

Then Maron spun him around in a circle and flung him up his drive way a bit more. He felt the skin of his elbow tear against the concrete beneath him as his limb caught fire. Maron had already caught up to him again and lifted him off the ground. This time, he threw him backwards. A crash echoed in the air around them as his back smashed into the garage door. His head closely followed suit and did the same. "Stop," he said. "Stop it!"

Maron lifted his fist up to deliver a punch. Johnny couldn't help himself. He let out a weep and crumpled on to the ground.

For an instant, the two locked eyes, and Maron dropped any pretense of an attack. The anger and fury in his eyes were replaced with anguish and disappointment. It only lasted an instant because Johnny couldn't keep looking at him and experiencing the feeling that it gave him. Sick with himself, he leaned up against the garage door and stared at his feet. "I… I didn't know," he said.

"You didn't know?" he asked incredulously. "Didn't know what, Johnny? Didn't know that paying to get us hurt would actually cause one of us to get hurt?"

His breathing had quickened. His arm singed and his head ached. Johnny finally had the feeling outside to match the inside. "I didn't think he'd take it so far," he said. "I just wanted him to keep you out of the tournament. I never wanted him to actually hurt you."

Maron rolled his eyes, shook his head, and turned away from Johnny. "What did you expect?" he asked. "A guy like that… wha… what did you think would happen?"

"I don't know, okay?" he said. "I just thought he'd scare you a bit or something."

He turned again, now with a look of disbelief in his hard, green eyes. "Trust me, Johnny, he's scared us plenty."

All at once, the emotions of the past months came over him in a single tidal wave. Flooded to the brim, cornered by a man he once bullied with pride, he broke down then and there. Unable to bear the consequences of his actions, he buried his head into his hands and started weeping. What Maron must've thought of him at that moment…

"Johnny," he said, "you're crying." He sounded angered all over again. "My whole life, you've done nothing but torment me and bully me and try to humiliate me… and now you're crying." In a surprising moment, his assaulter walked up to the garage, leaned up against it, and then slid down next him. There was no comfort in the action, and he didn't expect there to be. In his mind, Johnny knew what Maron tried to tell him in that moment – that he'd brought himself down to his level. "Just one thing I need to know," he continued. "Why are you threatened by our success?"

He removed his eyes and beheld the scenery around him. The moisture blurred the shapes and all of the details. "You wouldn't understand," he said.

"Try me."

Not knowing what else to do, he said something to Maron that he'd never said to anyone in his life. "A lot of reasons. You've got a brother… you've got a true friend and a family that loves you." He swallowed hard and choked a bit, still coming down from what he'd felt just moments before. "I never had any of that," he told Maron. For the first time, his old foe showed interest and attention. "You have a best friend, I've got a group of people who think I'm great at sports. You've got a brother in that best friend… I got nothing. You've got a mother who loves you… I got a drunk old man who doesn't respect failure and a mother too weak to face him," he said.

"So what?" Maron said. "You're telling me these past ten years, you've been on our case because you were jealous?"

He shrugged and shook his head, not knowing how to answer that. "Hell, I don't know… I don't know what I thought. In middle school, everyone treated you like crap," he said, "and I didn't' want to lose what I had."

He stood up again and looked down at Johnny. "Stand up," he demanded.

Johnny did as he was told and finally found the strength to look Maron in the eyes. He became faintly aware of the then trail of blood rolling down his forearm. The world swayed a little less and his vision had become full again. What he saw was Maron's anger… but it didn't feel the same. It didn't feel fully directed at him.

"I'm never going to respect you, Johnny," he said. "But there's a chance I might forgive you someday. I'm going to lie to you – I came here hoping to beat an answer out of you. I wanted you to be that same, defiant jerk that you've been your whole life, just so I could put you in your place." He looked up and down and sighed. "But I guess you did that to yourself, didn't you?"

The man spoke right through his skin and hit Johnny where it really counted. Ashamed and humiliated, what he felt in that one moment had been what Maron must've felt around him for his whole life. What had he done?

"I need you to find Craig and tell him something for me."

Johnny nodded, feeling that this would be the first baby step to any possible atonement he might accomplish. He told Maron, "He won't stop, you know? I asked him to, but told me he always did what he was paid to do the whole through."

"I know," Maron said. "That's not what I need you tell him." Johnny nodded and awaited instruction. "Find him and tell him that tomorrow, at dusk, I'll be in Glenwood Forest, at the clearing near dried up creek bed."

Johnny's eyes lit up. "You're going to fight him?"

Maron shook his head and as if assured that it'd already come to pass, he told Johnny these words: "No… I'm going to beat him."


	13. The Table is Set

Chapter 13: The Table Is Set

The Sun began to fall in the east. Alone in the clearing, Maron squatted at the dried up creek bed and scooped up some pebble. The earth was cold and moist under in his hands, no doubt chilled from the condensation in the air. Odd for summer, the sky grew cloudy and dim. A chill blew from a northern wind, but it bothered him not. He'd just finished stretching, just finished warming up, just finished prepping himself for the challenge to come.

In the distance, just beyond his line of vision, heard the leaves began to rustle and shift. This was it – the time was now and Maron knew he had to be at the ready.

As the rustling grew nearer, and the air around him a little cooler, he tugged at his uniform to make sure everything looked perfect. It wasn't just him that the uniform represented – it was Saizu, it was Carpenter, and it was Soaka. He wanted Craig to know every name by the end of the day.

Then he came into sight. In the grayness of the clouds, his pale complexion stood out like a sore thumb. His red eyes locked on to Maron's, and his face looked full of fire. "You know, when Young Jock Johnny told me you'd be here, I almost didn't believe him," he said. "Then I thought long and hard about it. Long and hard."

"Oh yeah?" Maron asked, "What was there to think about?"

Craig laughed and walked further into the clearing. "You're different than Soaka – Young Jock Johnny told me that when he gave me the silver. You know what he told me?"

"What?"

"He told me about the time you two got in a fight in the hallway. Lifted up his cast and said, 'look at what happened to my wrist.' And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that you'd come after me. Because you could've walked away from a fight with Young Jock Johnny easily. Real easily. But you didn't. Nope, you stayed and made sure he got hurt."

Maron shook his head and wanted to tell this idiot than Johnny jumped him and that he didn't have any choice in the matter, but what was the point? Talking would only delay the inevitable. "I need you to shut up and get ready for a fight," Maron said.

Craig laughed. "Much obliged, Maron, much obliged."

The two stood facing each other in the clearing. The air around them stirred with the feel of oncoming rain. Everything cooled to a chilled temperature and a breeze shifted the leaves to and fro. In the distance, Maron could smell the rain hitting the ground. How fitting for a moment like this… the dramatic cliché was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that Craig had now brought himself within ten feet of Maron, and the two squared off against each other.

Silently, the sized each other up. Both took a stance and firmed their posture, hoping that they were as safeguarded as could. Of course, Craig… well, he looked a bit unorthodox with both of his hands raised even with his eyes. He looked ready for a brawl, not for a fight.

They inched closer to each other, the air stirring more and more as they came close. A blink of light flashed in the distance, and rolling growl followed it. A storm had been coming, and the first warm drops of rain started to dance on the ground. They inched closer still. Another flicker of purple light and a now a dull roar echoed around them. Closer yet, and the rain started to steady its pace, coming down at an assured rate.

Craig smiled, "Three chances," he told Maron. "First two are practice runs."

Maron didn't respond. No need to. The two now came within range of each other, Craig's front fist rested gently up against Maron's outstretched palm. They stopped a moment. Now the rain fell harder and stronger than before, it's ambience filling the air around them.

He made the first move, tempting a quick strike with his lead hand. Craig parried it with ease and followed through with a quick move for Maron's ribs. He blocked it well enough, but he immediately felt strength as a quick soreness shot through his arm. No time to stop though. Maron swung around and tried to strike Craig with his heel, but he ducked and swept his legs out from under him. He fell to the ground, though he managed to land properly enough that he wasn't hurt. Kipping up, he went back to his initial stance and froze. Craig responded in kind.

His grin ate at Maron. The guy was actually enjoying all of this. "That's one," he told him. So that's what he meant by chances.

Recovering and coming to a knee, Maron looked up and nodded at Craig in acknowledgment. He knew coming in this would not be easy, and it only took three moves to get knocked off of his feet once. What had Soaka been on when he said he stood a chance against this guy?

Quickly, he hopped up to and into his stance again. His wet clothes weighed him down like never before. Even inching as they were, he could feel every drop of rain against his forearm, right where his undershirt ended and his skin became exposed. The man struck hard, a true brawler to the fullest. Perhaps he could exploit that somehow…

Once again, the touched their lead arms, Maron now lowering himself a bit to watch out for that dangerous right hand. The man didn't strike, he _flailed_. He had to watch out for that wild movement and make sure it didn't knock him flat on his ass. A different approach this time… how would Craig respond if Maron decided to go after the leg first?

He swung with his back leg to get extra momentum. Craig lifted his front foot to avoid the kick and Maron spun around with a backfist. The bastard caught it! Coming with a jab, Maron turned his posture and the punch went right by him. His stomach churned – that was too close for comfort. For a brief instant, Craig's head was left unguarded, so he jabbed at it with his lead elbow. Blocked?! Man, how fast was this guy anyways?

Now with the hand clamped tightly around his arm, Craig yanked him and turned him away, stretching the triceps to their apex. Aware of the danger this presented, Maron immediately went with the flow and managed to force his way through it, and with his arm turned damn near 180, he rolled through and carried his momentum to flip Craig over his top.

Now with his good arm free again, Maron charged in and feinted a leading kick. Craig bit, and he leapt off the ground and landed a solid blow right into the pale man's nose! He grunted and backed up a bit, but quickly recovered and moved in again. Full of confidence now, he went for a quick sidekick to the ribs. No! He telegraphed it and too late, realized that Craig had side-stepped it. With his body wide open, Craig carried all of his weight into his arm and drove his fest hard into Maron's chest.

An explosion of fire erupted inside as he fell on to his back. Everything burned. All he could hope for was to play it off like nothing. Again, he kicked off of his back and came to a single knee. Again, he had to look up to Craig. That same sickening grin was on his face.

He thumbed his nose and looked to the ground. "Not bad there, Maron. That's already two though… so this is it. Hope you made that second one count."

Knowing that he probably didn't have a chance to be Craig, Maron rose once more and cracked his neck. All that he could do to prove that he wasn't in pain, he tried to project. He danced a bit in place, loosened up a bit, and gave a cocky look that said he couldn't be beat. Whether or not Craig bought the bit, he couldn't tell… and with a guy like that, it probably didn't make any difference.

It didn't! The second Maron started to relax and get ready for the next assault, Craig was all over him, burning in at full steam and tearing him up. As he absorbed every strike and tried to counter, Craig moved a step ahead of him and would come around with something else. It didn't matter what limb or even what part of the limb he was using, he had an answer for Maron. Elbows would get blocked, punches swatted aside, kicks caught and thrown back like a boomerang. He had nothing for the guy. What had Soaka been talking about?

His friend must've gone through the same process. Being overwhelmed but alive at the same time, what had passed through his brain that hadn't passed through Maron's?

The solution would have to come quick. It felt as if his whole body had begun to reject itself. Back and forth, back and forth, they kept exchanging shots as quick as they could, and Craig kept getting the better of it. For a brief instant, Maron took a step back and avoided a blow – there was an opening! He latched on to Craig's arm and tucked around, hyperextending it as hard as he could. He saw gritted teeth, and not knowing what else to do, dove in and slammed against him with a vicious head butt. It connected with a wicked thud.

His opponent staggered backward and reached towards his mouth. Maron felt the faint warmth of liquid trickling down his forehead. He busted himself open, and when he looked at Craig, he couldn't help but notice that one of his teeth and mysteriously gone missing.

Collecting himself, Maron wiped at his head with his sleeve, went to a defensive stance, and awaited the next assault. Punch after punch, kick after kick, his offense only served to anger Craig more. He struck with more ferocity, lunged with greater bitterness than ever before. Block, duck, block, parry, parry, _wham!_

He doubled over as air escaped his lungs. A solid knee to his gut absolutely floored him and fell to the ground, heaving in pain.

Through deep breaths, Craig stopped and relaxed. "You know something? I never got a scar or a broken bone in my life. You broke my goddamn tooth!" Blood fell from his chin as he spoke, his gloating grin now replaced with a nefarious rage.

Maron tried to recover and push himself off of the ground, but to no avail. Craig moved in and kicked him in the gut a second time, winding him even more severely. With desperation, he drew what air he could into his lungs and rolled away. The rain bounced off his nigh-lifeless body as he did what he could to get away from the bastard that was his opponent. Every time he made a full rotation, he saw Craig stalking him. He'd been beaten.

Gently bumping into a tree, and aware of that no more room to run existed, Maron patiently awaited Craig. His friends were right – he'd been stupid rush into this so blindly. This guy had demolished Soaka when they fought, and he was the cleverer of the two. Why couldn't he be a better strategist? Ever since Carpenter sat them down and told them about their potential, he'd always committed to being faster, being stronger, being _better_ than he was before. And yet here he was, being dragged down by his old ways. Hadn't he learned anything from their first encounter? Didn't he take anything away from the first time Craig fought him? He thought of his broken friend in the hospital, he thought of Mora's bloody back, and he thought of Saizu's confession of his self-described failure. As he watched Craig raise his foot to deliver a stomp, he acknowledged his failure. He wondered whether Craig would be satisfied with knocking him out anymore. He wondere-

"Craig!" a voice came from the woods. Time started moving regularly again. His opponent froze with his foot raised above Maron's head.

He followed Craig's amazed gaze and everything came into focus. Standing at the edge of the clearing was the man who commanded so much respect. He stood calmly and with purpose. Water dripped from his goatee as he looked on with those cold eyes. "Saizu?"

"That's right, Craig."

Craig sniffed and rubbed at his nose viciously. In a surprising moment, all focus on Maron abandoned him and he faced his old master. Echoes of raindrops still filled the air around them, and the dried up creek bed started to form a tiny stream. He focused on it and thought hard about Soaka in the hospital while the two men began airing out their issues.

"What do you think you're doing here, old man?" he asked. Maron heard him stepping towards Saizu as he watched the water begin to fill.

"I'm here to talk some sense into you, Craig."

He scoffed and shook his head. "You're an idiot, you know that?" he asked.

Then Craig dashed wildly forward and went to strike Saizu. Maron turned and watched as his master calmly countered every move. He swatted away a jab, blocked a hooking kick, ducked another right cross, and finally threw his hands forward and shoved Craig away. He was _good_. There'd been no effort involved.

"Damn it, Craig, listen to me for two seconds!"

Feeling shocked, he watched as Craig followed the command and calmed down, again rubbing at his nose. "You've got no right to be here, you hear me? No goddamn right!"

Saizu folded his hands behind his back, sighed, and replied in a calm demeanor. "That's not true and you know it."

Craig's face grew into a wild smile. "So tell me then," he responded, "just what the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here to tell you that your job is done," Saizu said.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I spoke with Johnny, Craig," he started. "He told me all about the deal – you knock Maron and Soaka out of the tournament, and he gets a free shot at both of them." Johnny… all he wanted was to knock them out of the tournament and get one blow in? The damned moron… if Maron didn't know any better, he might've even pitied him. "Well it's done – Soaka's too injured to fight, Maron's been disqualified for no-showing his second match, and Johnny got to fight both of them."

The tournament? It felt so pointless to him after everything that transpired, and yet he couldn't help but be disappointed all the same. He'd completely forgotten it was happening to begin with.

"No!" Craig shot back. "No, it's not done, Saizu!" He jabbed his finger at his mouth. "Look what he did to my mouth! He made this _personal_."

His breath had returned to him and he rose from the ground. Saizu moved forward, and Craig backpedaled. Maron's joints ached, his stomach burned… all of the pain still sat firmly within. "You attacked his mother, Craig," Saizu said without looking at him.

"I wanted him to come after me blindly. It worked too."

Paying no mind to the ramblings of Craig, Saizu reached into his pocket and produced something… A small, lonely apple. "Take this," Saizu said, "it'll help you with the pain."

Craig's eyes narrowed as he watched the two interact. "A Ruby Gem?" he asked.

"That's right Craig, a Ruby Gem." Saizu gently patted Maron's shoulder and turned back to Craig. "Most people don't consider family members chess pieces to be used at will. When you attacked her, you made it personal. A broken tooth? Don't be a child."

Craig's face lit up and he charged in blindly again. Saizu took a quick step right and again slapped him across the back, pushing his momentum away from them. "It's over, Craig."

Maron bit into the apple. Again, the tart flavor somehow made him feel reinvigorated. What had been fuzzy now became clear. Maron watched the creek rise further and further, streaming towards whatever river it'd eventually flood in to. He watched the water as it danced in the rain, weaving its way around the rocks and the fallen trees that had caused it to dry up in the first place… Soaka had been here before with him. He remembered openly suggesting that it'd run freely again one day. He thought about his friend lying in that bed, telling Maron he'd figure something out. Why had he been so cryptic about everything? Was he trying to get Maron to learn something? His stupid damn friend, lying there staring up at the ceiling, lightly drumming his fingers against his chest…

Wait! That was it! Maron knew exactly what he had to do now. He grabbed Saizu's shoulders and told him, "It's not over." Saizu turned, eyebrow raised in curiosity. Craig grinned slyly and laughed. "What he did to Mora… no, I'm not letting him walk away from that."

"You see?" Craig asked, his voice thick with humor.

Saizu gave Maron a concerned look and shook his head, "Maron… are you sure about this? He's beaten you twice now."

Sure of himself, he nodded and smiled. "Not sure what it is about those apples, but I feel great," he said to himself. Then to Saizu he said, "I can win… I can _do this_."

His master bowed his head and exhaled heavily. "Then so be it." He backed away and left Maron and Craig staring at each other. His look had gone from amused to nefarious to malicious all within minutes of each other. The rain still fell, thunder echoed in the distance, and yet they did not move. Maron would not make the first move, and Craig seemed frozen by presence of Saizu.

"Make sure you keep out of this, old man!" Craig shouted.

Maron locked eye with Saizu with a look that agreed. Saizu nodded in return, and then gave a questioning look. The reason for the look was because Maron had smiled, nodded, and given a thumbs up.

He turned back to Craig, and told him, "Give me one minute."

His opponent seemed more baffled than anything else. Again rubbing away at his nose, he nodded and allowed the moment.

Then Maron loosened the top part of his karategi and pulled it down to his waist. He grabbed the black shirt underneath it, and lifted it up over his head.

All of the weight of the clothing disappeared, and Maron let it hit the ground. It landed hard and slopped mud up into the air. Soaka hadn't been drumming on his chest. He'd been drumming on his shirt. The weighted shirt that Maron had never taken off. That's what he'd been trying to tell him. That's what he wanted Maron to find out on his own. And that's how Maron knew that he could stand a chance against this guy.

"Weighted clothing?" Craig said, for the first time sounding somewhat uncertain. "Interesting."

Saizu realized this himself and gave Maron a quick nod in approval.

The rain kept pouring, and once again, the two took their stances. "So then," Maron said, "Let's call this chance number three."

And then they rushed at each other. The final fight began!


	14. Duel in the Rain

Chapter 14: Duel in the Rain

The two men charged in and clashed! Maron led with an elbow that and ducked down low. He immediately felt the difference in himself as he delivered a solid shot to Craig's gut that doubled him over. Quick as a cheetah, he flung his knee upward and broke his opponent's nose open, causing him to back up and re-evaluate the entire situation.

For the first time, Craig looked shaken not because of the presence of another, but because of the presence of _Maron_. It wasn't just a game anymore – he didn't come to play. He rubbed his nose, not out of habit this time but to clear the blood away from his mouth. "So then…" he said, "Looks like I'll have to take this a bit more seriously!"

Without any other warning, the second he finished that sentence, Craig was all over Maron. It was back to the wild man that had beaten him down at his own house. Maron maneuvered himself move-for-move as best as he could. Even as quick and strong and revitalized as he may've felt, it didn't do much to lessen the soreness that reverberated throughout his body with each block. The only answer, he decided, was to counter in kind.

Patiently, he blocked blow after blow and waited. He waited for it… he waited just a bit more. Then the switch was flipped!

Finding a good moment to parry instead of block, Maron swung Craig's arm away and charged in. As with the most successful approach from before, he attacked the leg first. He landed a quick shot to the leg, though it wasn't significant. Still though, he stayed relentless in his approach. Whatever attack he tried, Craig found a way to stop it from landing solidly. He'd try double-kicking, only for it to be stopped both high and low. Stagger-stepping only allowed his attacks to come a little closer to connecting. He feinted with a right snap, only to stop halfway and jump around with a high roundhouse. It was to no avail.

His limbs felt stretched to the bone. Damn… the guy _blocked_ hard too.

Growing frustrated, Maron stopped with all of the feinting and the fancy crap and just tried to dive right into an attack as hard as he could. Immediately, he forced himself to acknowledge his mistake.

His fist came to an abrupt stop as Craig latched on to it. The damned smile came back for a brief moment as he relished his advantage. Maron scrambled to recover, but his follow-up got caught too. Then Craig actually lifted him off the ground and threw him into the air. As Maron fell to the ground, he threw his arms up in defense.

Useless. A vicious sidekick clocked clean in the jaw and he knew right then and there, that he'd gone tit-for-tat and tried to knock out a tooth. He bounced off the ground and rolled over in pain. Quickly, he reached up to see if he did indeed have a tooth missing.

No time to check! Maron kept following up on him, stomping on the ground as Maron rolled away. On instinct a lone, he flipped around and swung his leg, tripping up Craig in the process. A shame it happened then, because instead of creating an opening, he only had time to recover and recollect himself.

Craig came right back after him, still as aggressive as ever. Whatever advantage Maron had before, he'd lost completely. Ducking another wild right, he swung up and knocked Craig in the gut. He grunted and leaned down, but immediately threw his head up and knocked the back of his head against Maron's chin, and then swung his head forward and cracked him right in the nose.

At this point, it started to become difficult to discern the rain trickling down his face from his blood. Where before there were clear cool and warm streams, now it all felt like one lukewarm mess. He could only wonder what he looked like.

They went back at it, full steam once more. Maron now tried a new approach and did his best to focus his Ki and bring it to his center. With luck, he may've been able to channel it and deliver a quick blow. The downside of this was that he felt himself weaken on his regular attacks and even slow a bit, and Craig once again found himself taking advantage of a prone opponent.

Being extra careful to not open up again, he brought his arms in tight and got close to Maron. This took away any possible extension, and he managed to get on the inside. Even as lanky as he was, he proved to be a smart enough fight to take advantage of the situation. He gripped the back of Maron's neck and dug his head into his chest. No matter how hard he tried to break free, Craig found a way to keep himself inward… until on one occasion, he leaned back and threw a quick shot into Maron's throat. He hacked and found himself desperate all over again.

Maron tried to deliver a headbutt of his own, but Craig leaned to the side and Maron fell forward. He felt a sharp jagged pain on his kidney as a swift elbow landed on top of him. Again, he lost the advantage.

At a loss so far as what to do Maron, lazily rose back up and stood defensively. Craig, much to his surprise, decided now would be as good as time as any to pause and gloat a bit.

"Maron, Maron, Maron…" he said, "I had so much faith in you. So much faith. When you tossed off that weighted shirt there, I thought you might've had a shot at me… not a good one, but some sort of shot is better than none, ain't it?" He nodded over to Saizu and laughed, "You see, Old Man? I'm not some lost cause… I'm better than this pathetic excuse for a fighter."

Saizu frowned, but responded in kind, "You insist this had nothing to do with me, but you try and mock me at every turn.

Craig chuckled some more and looked back at Maron. "Difference between trying and doing, isn't kiddo?"

Kiddo… kiddo… good lord, he could see why Johnny went to him in the first place. The penchant for mockery was thick with both of them, the only difference being a backhanded kind of distain from Craig. Johnny had always been an asshole, but this guy was a different kind of monster altogether. At least Johnny had, until recently, respected a certain sort of boundary. While he mocked Maron at every pass, his focus was largely singular. As Craig started rambling on about God knows what, Maron's mind started to wander. Johnny, Craig… Fido, kiddo… all of this started churning through his mind. Why had they both been so stubborn that they just couldn't let things lie? Johnny's dad, Craig's old instructor… they'd both thrust father figures into their reasoning. Well at least they had a father! What did he and Soaka have anyways?

Soaka… lying in that hospital bed, no doubt with Surrell, Mora and Carpenter all outside his door. All of them… he was failing _all of them_.

His cool started to slip as Craig wouldn't shut his mouth. Thunder started rolling with a dull roar echoing around them. What had Soaka done when he fought Craig? What had he done against every opponent that Maron hadn't? Faster and stronger Maron may've been, but Soaka proved to be the better fighter… hell, even in his first match, he'd found an opening against Torres, a guy Maron had some difficulty with just the other day. Heck, in Maron's first match…

The first match he ever had… who had he fought? Carssig… he fought him to a draw. An opponent better than him, and he fought him to a draw. All he'd done was avoid the blows of that brawling bastard and he'd found himself getting on even grounds… That was it!

He locked eyes with Saizu. His face no doubt looked like hell, and Saizu's gaze indicated just that. When Maron smiled, that gaze morphed into first confusion, and then into an assured, serious look accompanied by a nod.

Not knowing how the rest of the ridiculous speech went, Maron caught these words, "And now it comes down to this, kiddo: hope there's a bed next to your pal."

Maron exhaled heavily and relaxed himself as best as could. Suddenly, everything felt amplified. The rain bounced off the ground and he heard every single drop. The creek flowed and he heard the water's steady flow. Every breath he burst in side his head. Tunnel-like vision came over him as all saw Craig and only Craig. Deep within, he felt the warmth of the Energy stir. It was that little bit he left in reserve from earlier – dumb luck proved to be better than no luck at all. "You know?" he said, "I don't think there's a bed next to him. Even if there was, it's going to stay empty."

Craig's mouth twitched a bit and a hard, stone cold look painted itself on his face. "Only if you wind up in the morgue!" he shouted. He really laid the cheese on thick that time.

Again, he charged at Maron – good, just what he wanted. The man attacked so blindly and violently, how had he missed this before.

Making sure to dance around and stay light on his feet, Maron initiated his new strategy. Craig came at him full-force, swinging with his right. He moved to the side and quickly ducked a follow-up with his left. Craig threw a sidekick back at him, but Maron had already moved out of range and settled himself again. Hopping a bit, he saluted Craig as if to say, _"Here I am, come get me." _His opponent squinted in frustration, but charged in again, seemingly oblivious to the ploy.

This time he went after him with a wild jumping kick that he easily shifted to the right and avoided. Craig swung around and tried a hook kick that Maron ducked. He didn't drop the leg! With a quick attempt to tap him the face, Craig threw a roundhouse that Maron managed to catch at the last second. It still had some sting.

Maron again moved out of range and relaxed himself. He waved Craig on, again trying to egg him on.

He shook his head and waved at Maron. The jig was up, but that didn't mean it was necessarily over. Maron went back to dancing and nodded. He faked once, and Craig went to counter. He faked again – and again, his opponent bought it. Then in a moment that not even knew what went through his head, he faked one last time and stopped a half-step short. Craig remained absolutely motionless and actually _growled_ at Maron.

"Fight back, damn it!"

He did just that, this time moving in and fully committing. Craig somehow didn't react to this one and delivered a deadly sidekick right to the ribs. His opponent stopped and gripped his side. Maron didn't want to let his advantage slip and moved in for a quick shot.

Now he'd faked him out! Craig ducked his kick and swung with a right cross. Maron ducked and immediately had to throw his palm up to catch an elbow that followed it up. His arm got caught and twisted and he spun into a hammer. On instinct, Maron whipped his head back and connected with Craig's nose once more, this time he heard the cartilage give way to the pressure.

Craig went from growling to hissing now, and grabbed Maron by the hair. In one swift motion, he swung his head about-face and threw his fist in the opposite direction. A gunshot went off in his head as it wrapped itself around his eye and sent him hurling away from Craig.

Stumbling, stumbling, no – he managed to catch himself and spin around on a single knee. Now that he had another gap, he confirmed it – they _both_ must've been feeling the pain now. Craig started to look legitimately winded.

Quietly, he muttered to himself. "Stupid to dive in like that." He stole a glance at Saizu, who only nodded in response. Had he heard him? That was pretty much all of the advice Maron needed from him.

He turned back to his opponent, smiled, and started to dance-in-place again.

Craig actually looked shaken up by this. His eyes went to an odd shape and his mouth opened up, showing the bloody inside that the missing tooth had created. "Why are you so happy? I'm on to your strategy now!" Maron didn't answer. Instead, he simply waved him on again. The effect worked just as intended. "Screw this! I don't need to resort to pussy-footing bullshit to beat you. One shot is all it's going to take!"

He let out a tremendous yell and charged head-on towards Maron. As if the sky was watching, lightning crashed as the two collided. Maron had folded his arms in front of his chest, but the smack of the two colliding still floored him and knocked him over. Hard as it was for him to admit, it'd been a smart move to just dive into him instead of doing the old punch-n-kick routine that they'd been partaking up to that point.

As they hit the ground, he wrestled his way away from Craig and kicked from his knees. Again, he caught the guy in the face!

"Damn it!" he shouted. "Stop that!"

Maron somersaulted back and popped up to his feet again… that's when he realized just how much damage that spear had done to him. He could barely lift his upper body his ribs hurt so bad. He gasped for air, and then entered a fit of coughing.

Craig, for his part, had yet to get up, his left eye now swollen from the repeated blows. Slowly, but surely, he rose again, still holding himself from the pain he felt.

Quick as a scorpion's tale, he charged at Maron again. It'd been such a sudden spring that Maron found himself shocked at his ability to side-step it at the last second. Even moreso, he shocked himself by leaving his left leg in place, causing Craig to trip and fall, once again, flat on to his face. Sure, he'd managed to throw and arm down to absorb some of the punishment, but when he turned back towards Maron, his face was caked in mud, a bloody mess of dirt and pain. Only then did Maron realize that Craig's attacks had ceased being about gaining and advantage and more about getting one, desperate killing-blow in.

Luckily, either that, or the exhaustion mixed with the powder, turned him into a raging idiot. He lashed out wildly, trying to knock Maron with every limb and body part he had. He threw a right jab. Maron blocked it from the inside, and then threw his other arm up and struck the outside of Craig's elbow. A sickening crack emitted from his arm and he let out a squeaking, painful noise.

Then, even dumber than before, he tried it with the left. Again, Maron caught it and struck him from the exact same angle. Again, the sound of a breaking bone escaped his opponent.

Now completely open and prone, Craig stood there, his arms hanging pointlessly towards the ground. "You… son… of…" he breathed out.

Between the heaves he took, Maron managed to give his own retort, "It's over… Craig. Give up."

"But… I'm… stronger… faster… I beat… that stupid kid."

Then something clicked inside of Maron. That stupid kid? That stupid kid?! "Soaka…" he said, now being overwhelmed with anger. "That stupid kid's name… is Soaka!"

Blind from rage, he sprinted forward. Craig leapt and threw a snap kick that Maron ducked. He caught him out of midair, and then threw all of his weight down. Snapping downwards, Craig landed back-first on the ground, yelping as his head snapped back and struck it shortly after.

Grabbing him by the head, Maron picked him up and held him in place. Then, he let go and demolished Craig with three hard punches – all of his might went into them. One left to the ribcage, then a hard right cross and backhand to his stupid face. The second one spun Craig around, and again, Maron caught him, making he sure he stayed on his two feet.

Inside, he felt his Ki beginning to whirl again. He focused on it as hard as he could. The warmth came to him sudden as a bath of light, and he latched on to it. With all of the concentration he could muster, Maron pulled it from his gut and took it all to his right arm. Then, he reared back and said, "For each injury to Soaka, one for you." And he threw his forearm straight-on with all of the might left in his body into the spine of Craig.

The scream would not be drowned out by any thunder or lightning or pounding rain this time. Craig's back arched forward and he cried out as he fell to his knees. There he remained, for a moment, his arms still lifeless, his face still swollen. It was a pathetic sight.

Maron's head drooped and lowered, and then, out of exhaustion, he too, fell to his knees. What had he done on that last strike? He felt like any Energy he had before escaped from his body.

Around him, the world started to go black around the edges. Distantly, he saw Saizu running forward, and he dropped down beside Maron and grabbed him behind the neck, slowing his fall as began to drop backwards towards the ground.

As he lay on his back, staring at the sky, he looked at Saizu and asked. "Is it over?"

His master, frowning and yet proud of what he'd seen all the same, nodded and reassured Maron.

"Yes. It's over."


End file.
